CIHM 

Microfiche 

Series 

(Monographs) 


ICMH 

Collection  de 

microfiches 

(monographies) 


CwiwtoiliwtllMlitnrinilir'r-*"*      I  ^ 


Technical  and  BIbliooraphic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


Th«  Intlilutt  ha<  atttmplcd  to  obtain  tho  boot  original 
copy  avaflable  for  filming.  Faaturat  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  t^iographically  uniquo,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  ttm  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  beioM. 


GZl 
0 
□ 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommag^e 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restaur^e  et/ou  peOicul^e 

Cover  tide  missiiH)  /  L«  titrs  de  couverture  manque 
Cetowed  maps  /  Cartas  giegnfMques  en  couiMir 

□ Coloured  Ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  /* 
Enera  de  oouleur  <i.e;  auM  que  Meue  eu  noire) 

j — j  cokMjred  plates  andAxluitfaflons/ 


□ Bound  with  other  msMi/ 
IM  avee  d^res  documents 

□ Only  edition  avalabie/ 
SeuieMMondisponMa 

r/l  Ttghl  binding  may  cause  shedowsordWortlDnatoog 
vLi  Interior  margin  /  La  reBure  serr*e  peut  causer  de 

rombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge 

Intirieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
wKNnthetext.  Whenever possMe.  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages 
blanches  ajout^es  lors  d'une  restauration 
tpparrissertt  dans  le  texte.  mais,  lorsque  c^  <tall 
poMiAi.  ees  pages  nroM  pes  «t«  fdmies. 


□ 


L'Institut  a  microfilm*  le  meilteur  exemplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
M  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut*#tre  ufdques  du  pokit  de  vue  bM- 
ographkjue,  qui  peuvent  nx>difier  une  image  reproduce, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modificatkm  dans  la  m^tho- 
de  nonnale  de  fBmage  sont  indiquAs  d-dessous. 

I    I  Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

[71  Pagesdamaged  ^  »  v  endommagies 

□ Pages  restored  t-  .i' or  laminated / 
Pages  restauries  eVou  oelliculies 

0 Pages  dsooloured.  stained  or  foxed  / 
Pages  dteeior«es.  tachettes  ou  ph)u4es 

I    I  Pagesdstaehed/Pagesditach«ea 

Showthrough/ Transparence 


□ 
□ 
El 


□ 


Quality  of  print  varies  / 
Quality  in^gate  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppl^mentaire 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata  slips, 
tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partiellement  obscurcies  par  un  feuaiet  d'crrata.  une 
pelure.  etc.,  ont  6X6  nimtes  k  nouveau  de  fa(on  k 
obienir  la  melewe  knage  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouratton  or 
(Sscdourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possMe  knage  /  Les  pages  s'opposant  ayant  dee 
cotoratkms  variablea  ou  dee  dteolorationa  sofrt 
(ilm^es  deux  tois  aiki  tfoblenir  la  meMeure  knege 
possible. 


□ 


AddMonal  comments/ 
CommsnlabM  supplimenlakes: 


Thl«  Item !» filmed  it  the  reduction  ritlo  cheeked  below/ 

Ct  docwment  ttl       au  Uux  de  rMucUen  indiqui  cl-«aM0vs. 


The  copy  filmed  here  hM  bMfi  rtprodUMd  ttWfto 
to  the  generosity  of: 


L'  exemplaire  filmA  fut  reproduit  giiM  k  la 
g4n«ro«itA  de: 


ThoBM  Fisher  Rare  Book  Library 


ThiMHUi  FislMr  Rare  Book  Library 


This  title  was  microfilmed  witli  the  geneioui 
permission  of  the  rights  holder: 


Ce  titre  a  6X6  microfilm^  aveo  ramble  autorisation 
du  d^tenteur  des  droits: 


David  H*  Strin^r 


David  H.  Stringer 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  tiest  quality 
possible  considering  the  ocmdition  and  legibility  of 
ttw  oHgNil  eoiv  and  k)  kwi^ing  with  ttw  fMni^ 
contract  apecWeatione. 

Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on  the 
last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  Impression,  or 
the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All  other  original 
copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the  first  page  with  a 
printed  or  illustrated  impression,  and  ending  on  ttie 
Mnt  page  with  a  printed  or  IM^raM  tmpiassion. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  nticrofiche  shall 

contain  the  symbol  -^(meaning  "CONTINUED"),  or 
the  synrdsol  ▼  (meaning  "END"),  whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  Included  In  one  exposure  are  nimed  begin* 
ning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to  right  and 
top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as  required.  The 
following  diagrams  HhisMrte  the  method: 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6X6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et  de 
la  nettat*  de  I'exemplaire  filmd,  et  en  cootom^ti 
avec  les  corxlitions  du  contrat  de  fUmage. 

Lea  Miemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  film^s  en  commen^ant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
demidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte  d'im- 
pression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second  plat, 
selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exenrplalres  origin- 
aux sont  film6s  en  commengant  par  la  premiere 
page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte  d'impression  ou 
d'iHustration  et  en  terminant  par  la  demure  page 
t|tii  compona  una  laaa  ampiaifHa. 

Un  des  symt>oles  suhmnts  apparaltra  sur  la 

dernidre  image  de  chaque  microfiche,  selon  le  cas: 
le  symbole  •*  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le  symbole  ▼ 
slgnme  TIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  Atre 
fHmde  i  des  taux  de  reduction  dlWrents.  Lorsque 

le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  6tre  reprochitt  an 
un  seul  cliche,  il  est  f ilm6  k  partir  de  Tangle 
supdrieur  ^ueha,  da  gaudw  i  (froito.  at  da  hatrt 

an  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre  d  'images 
ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants  iilustrent  la 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MKRocoTY  mottRNM  na  own 

(ANN  wrf  HO  mr  CMMf  N».  2) 


LONELY  O'MALLFY 


A  Storv  ol  l]'>v  Life 


AR  rill  k        K!  \  t.I  k 

WITH    11  1  I     ,      ,  i  ,,      ,  .,v 

FR  ANK    1  .    \;  f  k  H  1  M 


IKiSTOV   XM-  SEW  YORK 
MoUGH  TOS,  M!1M.!N  A  N !)  (  f      !>,\ N 


■vt!.I,  SIRS,  WHAT  Wi,  !  Vt:i 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 

A  Story  of  Boy  Life 

BV 

ARTHUR  STRINGER 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

FRANK  T.  MERRILL 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

1905 


corvRioirr  190$  hy  akthvr  ■tkinoim 

ALL  BMim  KkHHVBD 


7«  Dtrttkj  ykkt  WiU$ 


All  ytmb,  my  umt  Ihrttby  #».  ;i  dividid  int»  ibrit  parti,  — 
that  tarluu  Un^d  tg*  ,/  h/imt,,  tbtt  tnrt  wtMbffiJ  mud^  tg* 
of  di-vtri  uv^triu  *»tj  luny  iwugimiigi,  ibat  ttill  mert  golden  and 
vt^dtrful  <f ;  •  «/•  ad  ttutni  Tbtn,  aitt,  tb*  phu>n-b»uu  t/  Mnalitm  utmi 
t*  clou  abou  ■  ;.  and  tot  mt.  j  .en  tomt  fint  mornimg  H  ibt  isd ffm  thm  wt 
•rt,  tbtriajttr,  n  bt  rigard-d  ai  only  one  of  the  grewn-upi.  Of  ibh  dolor- 
Ml  ttndititn  ytu  irill  ki»u>  nubing ,  but  lubtn  it  doti  eemi,  will/nd 
your  three  age,  ofymk  Uth  ttutrging  but  Ot  Mbtr,  end  all  grtwn  miay. 
Oftbe  first,  of  couru,  ivt  can  recall  nothing.  The  ucond,  alaclujiy,  vtt 
all  too  qukUy  forg,:.  Tbe  third,  with  it,  dream,  and  HIhumi,  wt  earty 
tUng  with  ui  Miy  in  »bM,  mtd  brtkn  mmtritt.  St,  tUt  tmltmtu  tr  m» 
«•  lb*  long  and  de-viou,  wayside  of  a  small  boy' i  career  may,  I  bf*,  kuf 
«/w  in  your  heart  and  mine,  and  perbapi  in  a /rw  other,',  umt  remtm. 
brancei  oflbou  tartitr  dsyi  ,f  lift  ibu  Itt  mtn  dip  away  -  of  thoie  day, 
tvben  I  thought  you  the  ripest  little  girl  in  all  tbe  tvtrtd,  and  you  {dart 
Itayitf)  openly  avow.,  that  lemon  mtringui  vm  tU  lununvun  boilttm 
rftOtMiMmtl 

A.  & 

M  i>«xxa  BaritrM,  H,nu,  Jlfrll,/gciS 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  One.  In  IVhich  Lonely  Finds  Him- 
self an  Outlander  3 

Chapter  Two.  In  ffbicb  the  King  is  Jgain 

Disowned  31 

Chapter  Three.  In  Which  False  Gods  are 
Pursued 

Chapter  Four.  In  Which  there  is  a  Tri- 
umphal Procession  95 

Chapter  Five.  In  Which  the  King  Cmes  Into 

His  Own  129 

Chapter  Six.  In  Which  Uonel  Clarence  Makes 

His  Escape  151 

Chapter  Seven.  In  Which  Lonely  Gets  Reli- 
gion With  a  Vengeance  177 

Chapter  Eight.  In  Which  Lonefy  Tells  a 

Story  or  Two  221 

Chapter   Nine.  In  Which  the  Greyhound 

Steps  Forth  261 

Chapter  Ten.  In  Which  Certain  Pirates  are 

Pursued  285 


viti  CONTENTS 

Chapter  Eli  ven.    In  ff^hich  the  Greyhound 

Is  Overhauled  301 

Chapter  Twelve.  In  Which  the  Biter  is  Some- 
what Bitten  31^ 

Chapter  Thirteen.    In    Which    Touth  is 

Stripped  of  its  Glory  335 

Chapter  Fourteen.  In  Which^At  Lasty  We 

Find  Our  Hero  353 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


IVell^  sirs^  what  will  you?  {pog^J^t)  Frontispiece 
The  boy  at  the  buck-saw  5 
Pud  'Jones  ivas  moodily  receiving  his  first  lesson  in 


garden-making 

8 

He  emerged  from  under  the  driving-shed 

II 

Armed  himself  with  great  care 

*7 

Nofw^  what  strange  craft  might  that  be  ? 

»9 

Audacious^  jeering^  tyrannical 

23 

Marooned  on  the  top  of  her  chain-pump 

33 

Are  nt  you  the  new  baker's  little  bey  ? 

4« 

He  does  n't  really  look  so  ver-r-ry  thin  ! 

47 

Once  more  up  the  back  stairs 

SI 

Why  ain't  you  a-gittin'  some  schoalin'  ? 

60 

Out  in  the  warm  sunshine 

67 

Marvelous  feats  on  the  trapeze 

77 

Don't  tali  to  me  about  candy  ! 

81 

Stuck  out  a  snake-like  tongue  at  bi  n 

89 

Now  J  Put  this  into  yottr  face  f 

lOI 

The  Goddess  of  Liberty  and  her  new  page 

109 

X  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  red  bandanna  went  up  1 21 
She  7/  tackle  anything  from  a  tom-cat  to  a  terrier  !  131 

/  kin  lick  you  !  137 

That  big  bully  out  there  licked  me!  143 

Innocent  and  unsuspecting  1 47 

Shot  down  his  quarry  1 54 

Do  you  think  I  'd  better  risk  it?  165 

Dictating  a  truce  169 

Butcher  Brennan  doused  the  burning  captive  1 8 1 

Nursing  the  injured  member  183 

Pored  over  the  book  until  the  end  was  reached  1 91 
A  matter  of  conscience  to  accept  no  mare  than  one 

cheese-cake  199 

Att  a  good  part  of  his  ntwfy  pasted  house-kite  205 

Come  agin  !  209 

He  was  put  in  the  infant  class  213 

Whipped  up  over  the  walnut-trees  225 

Just  scratched  gravel  for  all  they  was  worth  !  229 

There  has  been  some  foul  deed  dene  here  !  239 
The  eld  constable  proceeded  to  make  himself  at 

home  243 

The  constable  gave  the  story  over  again  251 

Little  Hnkie  Ball  carried  fence-boards  265 

Silently  poled  up  Patterson* s  Creek  272 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  x; 
Standing  grandiosely  exalted  on  that  little  upper 

deck  27s 

Backed  by  a  masked  and  scowling  man  279 

Kin  you  recollect  that  crafty  Si  las?  287 

Bore  herj  struggling  and  kicking  303 

A  paper ^  signed  in  red  31^. 

You  *re  captured!  cried  the  delirious  pirate  crew  329 

An  improvised  skirt-dance  341 

IVitk  a  spy-glass  and  a  shot-gun  357 

Pursued  by  the  irate  maiden  lady  '60 

Stretched  himself  out  for  his  nap  jj 

Each  vindictively  eyeing  the  other  377 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


CHAPTER  I 
In  which  Ltntfy  finds  bimstlfan  Outlandtr 

THE  sun  mounted  higher  in  the  tur- 
quoise sky.  The  birds  sang  more  sleepily. 
Faint  and  far  away,  from  the  flats  down  by  the 
river,  a  few  belated  frogs  still  trebled  and 
fluted.  Then,  lazily,  the  warm  breeze  stirred, 
and  died  away,  and  stirred  again,  scattering 
a  drifting  shower  of  cherry-blossoms  through 
the  heavy,  indolent  sunlight,  murmurous  with 
the  hum  and  drone  of  many  wings,  where,  for 
the  hundredth  time,  a  song-sparrow  preached 
his  vagabond  philosophy  of  "Sweet !  Sweet ! 
Idleness  —  Idleness  —  Idleness  !  " 

It  was  a  cloudless  Saturday  morning,  and 
the  end  of  May.  There  was  something  more 
than  the  smell  of  buds  and  youn^  leaves  in 
the  air,  something  more  than  the  sound  of 
frogs  and  sparrows  and  bobolinks, —  for  when 
Piggie  Brennan,  the  butcher's  son,  had  deliv- 


4  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

cred  his  roast  of  beef  at  Widow  Tiffin's  back 
door,  he  drew  a  generous  slice  of  bologna  from 
his  trousers  pocket,  wiped  it  deliberately  on  his 
sleeve,  and  then  wagged  his  head  twice,  sol- 
emnly, and  with  much  conviction.  This  done, 
he  poked  his  empty  basket  well  in  under  Bar- 
rison's  stable,  and  whistled  three  times,  softly, 
for  Redney  McWilliams. 

Redney,  under  stern  inspection  from  the 
back  kitchen  window,  was  engaged  in  a  deal 
of  puffing  and  blowing  and  wheezing,  as  he 
intermittently  wielded  a  buck-saw  on  a  stick 
of  elm  cordwood,  for  some  twenty  languid 
strokes,  and  then,  for  an  equal  length  of  time, 
gazed  vacuously  and  dreamily  at  his  feet,  "  to 
spell  his  muscles,"  he  had  explained  to  the 
uncomprehending  parental  mind,  preoccupied 
with  stewing  rhubarb  in  the  back  kitchen. 
"  S-s-stt !  s-s-stt  there,  Redney  1 " 
Then  there  came  a  discreet  pause. 
"  Redney  !  Hi,  there,  Redney  !  " 
The  boy  at  the  buck-saw,  as  he  heard  that 
husky  whisper  from  the  knot-hole  in  the  back 
fence,  slowly  and  cautiously  turned  his  head, 
without  in  the  least  moving  his  labor-bent 
body. 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  $ 

**  Sbt  *s  wattbin*  /  "  he  ejaculated,  under  his 
Inrath.  Then  there  was  another  discreet  pause. 

*'  Cm'  on  fishin' !  "  whispered  the  husky 
voice,  at  last,  through  the  knot-hole. 


THE  BOV  AT  THE  BUCK-SAW 


Redney  cast  a  furtive  glance  toward  the 
kitchen  window.  Then,  whistling  artlessly,  he 
strode  with  great  deliberation  to  the  very  wood- 
shed door,  to  reconnoiter.  Still  whistling,  he 


6  LONELY  O'MALLET 


mottnted  the  wood-pile.  There  he  made  a 
great  pretense  of  throwing  down  freth  fuel  for 
his  energy.  When  he  heard  a  ttove-door  tlam 
shut  he  knew  that  his  moment  had  come,  and 
stepped  quickly  from  the  wood-pile  to  the 
neighboring  fence-top,  and  then  dropped 
quietly  i..to  the  back  alley. 

Once  he  had  thus  crossed  his  Rubicon,  his 
entire  manner  took  on  a  sudden  transform- 
ation, and  at  Figgic  Brennan's  repeated  declar- 
ation that  it  ought  to  be  mighty  fine  fishing 
weather  again,  he  gave  vent  to  a  vigorous 
and  abandoned  can-can,  quite  belying  the 
exhausted  muscles  of  the  buck-saw  laborer. 

Two  lots  further  down  the  alley  they  dis- 
covered Billie  Steiner  blithely  raking  up  the 
back  yard,  wrapt  in  the  happiness  of  innocent 
content.  They  peered  in  at  him,  over  the 
fence-top,  silently,  and  with  impassive  feces. 
But  the  tongue  of  Billie,  the  unconscious 
artist,  was  out,  and  it  worked  contemplatively 
back  and  forth  with  every  stroke  of  his  rake. 
An  audible  snicker  broke  from  the  two  boys, 
as  they  dropped  down  out  of  sight. 

"Say,  Billie,  c'm'on  fishin' !  " 

"  Heh  !  "  said  the  startled  husbandman. 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  7 

"Aw,  cm' on  fisiiin*,  Billic  !  " 

At  the  magic  of  that  mysterious  call,  float- 
ing in  on  his  honest  labor,  all  the  world 
seemed  to  change.  The  boards  about  Billie 
Stdner  became  a  prison  wall ;  the  heavy  rake 
fell  from  hit  listless  hand.  The  seed  of  revolc 
sank  deep  in  his  breast  He  scuttled  secret- 
ively down  toward  the  back  fence.  There  he 
held  converse  with  certain  unseen  conspirators, 
through  a  narrow  crack  between  the  imprison- 
ing boards. 

A  moment  later  he  had  scaled  his  audacious 
way  out  to  liberty.  In  the  freedom  of  the 
alley,  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  Steiner  chicken- 
coop,  the  three  boys  talked  things  over,  Piggie 
producing  matches  and  Redney  McWiUiams 
a  supply  of  punk  and  dried  spatter-dock  stems. 
A  happy  and  pensive  silence  fell  over  the 
little  group  as  they  I:  up.  There  was  no 
hurry;  the  whole  day  was  before  them  ;  and 
it  was  not  until  their  three  throats  were  dry 
and  their  three  tongues  well  blistered  that  they 
felt  they  had  had  their  fill  of  the  weed,  and 
decided  to  move  on. 

Pud  Jones  was  moodily  receiving  his  first 
lesson  in  garden-making,  under  the  wing  of 


8  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


his  rheumatic,  care-taking,  and  yet  somewhat 
short-tempered  old  grandfather,  when  a  tiny 
pebble  hit  him  on  the  bridge  of  the  nose. 


PUD  jONBS  WAS  MOODILY  RECEIVING  HIS  RKST  LESSON  IN 

GARDEN-MAKING 


He  started  violently,  and  looked  cautiously 
at  the  fence  in  the  rear.  But  he  said  nothing. 
Still  another  pebb'e  hit  him,  a  weightier  one, 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  9 

this  time  on  the  calf  of  the  leg.  He  jumped 
therefore  unexpectedly,  and  rubbed  the  spot 
briskly. 

"  SufFerin'  sassafras,  Kilvert  Jones  !  Can't 
you  stand  stiddy  a  minute?  First  thing  you 
know  you  '11  be  havin'  St.  Vitus  Dance ! " 
complained  the  old  gardener,  already  exasper- 
ated by  his  young  ward's  eloquent  argument 
that  garden-digging  was  a  ruthless  destruction 
of  innocent  worm-life,  a  destruction  so  horrible 
to  his  stern  young  sense  of  mercy,  he  had 
intimated,  that  it  promised  to  take  the  heart 
out  of  his  day's  work. 

Pud's  backward  glance  toward  the  fence  held 
a  touch  of  vindictiveness.  His  unsuspecting 
tutor  turned  away,  mumblingly,  for  the  spade 
that  leaned  against  the  grape-arbor.  When  he 
hobbled  back  to  the  little  garden-plot  his  young 
grandson  had  disappeared,  as  completely  as 
though  the  earth  had  opened  and  swallowed 
him. 

«  Why,  —  why,  bless  my  soul,  he 's  —  he 's 
gone ! "  ejaculated  the  old  gentleman,  weakly, 
nibbing  his  chin.  And  with  his  hand  to  his 
eyes  he  peered  dazedly  about. 

If  the  hearing  of  Pud's  grandfiither  had  been 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


the  least  bit  sharper,  that  bewildered  old  gar- 
dener might  have  caught  the  excited  murmur 
of  happy  young  voices  drifting  off  down  the 
alley,  and  the  mystic  whistled  call  which  echoed 
sofUy  out  from  behind  Johnson's  bam,  where 
Dode  Johnson  rebelliously  and  languidly  gath- 
ered chips,  in  an  old  market-basket,  and  made 
patient  and  needlessly  exhaustive  observations 
on  the  traveling  powers  of  a  wood-slug. 

«  Hey-oh,  there,  Dode ! "  cried  a  muffled 
voice. 

"Goin'  fishin'?"  demanded  Dode,  softly, 
without  rising  from  his  knees,  as  he  caught 
sight  of  that  telltale  little  band  and  sniffed  at 
the  penetrating  yet  mysteriously  fr^rant  odor 
of  burning  punk  and  dock-stems. 

"  Sure !  "  said  Piggie  Brennan,  turning  over 
a  board  in  search  for  worms.  "Can't  you  make 
your  sneak,  Dode  ? " 

Dode  looked  about  him,  guardedly.  A  mo- 
ment later  he  emerged,  puffing,  dirt-covered, 
red-^ed,  worming  his  way  out  from  under 
the  driving-shed. 

"  I  thought  you  had  to  clean  them  turnips 
up  out  o'  your  cellar?"  he  said  to  Redney 
McWilliams,  as  he  lit  up  luxuriously. 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  ii 

"  Wat  turnips  ?  "  demanded  Redney,  vacu- 
ously. 

"Why,  them  winter  turnips  you  said  'd 
rotted  down  there  !  " 

"  Oh,  who  cares  for  turnips !  "  cried  Redney, 
abandonedly.  "  This  is  f  shin*  weather !  " 

The  sun  mounted  still  higher,  the  frogs  still 


= — r- 


HE  BMERCBD  PROM  UNDER  THE  DRIVING-SHED 

trebled  and  fluted  down  on  the  river-flats,  the 
warm  breeze  stirred  lazily  once  more.  The 
alleys  and  back  yards  of  the  town  of  Cham- 
boro  grew  quieter ;  the  robins  sang  on  undis- 
turbed ;  the  noisy  rattle  of  an  occasional  pump- 
handle  echoed  through  the  blossom-muffled 
stillness.  Even  the  wooden  soldier  windmill 
on  the  peak  of  Barrison's  stable  refused  any 
longer  to  wheel  and  flaunt  his  faded  red  arms. 


12  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

A  capering,  reckless,  and  emancipated  band 
of  ragged  nomads  crept  and  dodged  stealthily 
out  past  old  Captain  Steiner's  orchard,  past 
the  graveyard,  and  past  Judge  Eby's  cow- 
pasture,  to  essay  for  "  shiners  "  and  "  punkin- 
seeds,"  and  to  adventure  with  life  among  the 
rafts  and  odorous  logi  of  the  old  river.  For 
in  an  hour,  almost,  a  new  and  all-conquering 
infecdon  had  swept  through  Chamboro.  Few 
were  to  escape  the  disease,  for  once  more  the 
sleepy  little  river  town  was  in  the  throes  of 
spring-fever. 

Piggie  Brennan  stooped  down  and  tried  the 
water  that  stood  in  a  stagnant  little  pool  just 
in  front  of  Curry's  greenhouse.  He  reported 
it,  jubilantly,  to  be  warmer  than  milk.  Then 
Billie  Steiner  tried  it,  and  remained  discree*' 
silent,  for,  pending  the  drying  of  a  bela 
washing,  he  had  fallen  back  on  a  pair  of  his 
sister's  stockings,  with  the  too-voluminous 
tops  carefully  stretched  and  tucked  up  under 
his  trouser-legs  —  and  he  did  not  care  to  have 
the  fact  known. 

But  others  soon  confirmed  Rg^e's  ver- 
dict, and  a  sudden  dedsive  "  Gee,  then,  here 
goes  I "  from  Pud  Jones  was  followed  by  the 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  13 

feverish  ripping  off  of  an  all  too-confining 
boot. 

In  three  minutes  every  member  of  that 
band  of  adventurers  sat  at  the  roadside,  bare- 
footed, wriggling  toes,  and  half  dreamily  con- 
templating thin  young  legs,  as  bleached  and 
white  as  grass  that  had  grown  up  under  a 
board.  But  a  month  of  fishing-weather,  they 
knew,  and  the  right  butternut-brown  would 
be  there  again,  and  there  would  be  no  more 
need  of  gingerly  picking  one's  way  across 
stubble  and  gravel-patches ! 

From  this  mysterious  rite  of  denudation, 
indeed,  a  sort  of  Dionysian  madness  seemed 
to  ensue.  The  band  went  mad  of  a  sudden  ; 
one  and  all  they  capered,  galloped,  yelled, 
curveted,  with  every  sound  and  movement 
of  ecstasy,  plunging  and  splashing  through 
ditches,  puddling  in  mud-pools,  skimming 
over  velvety  young  grass-plots.  Then  the 
shoes  and  stockings  were  hidden,  in  a  sadly 
mixed-up  heap,  under  Smith's  cow-stable,  and 
the  band  took  up  its  way  toward  the  river.  It 
was  fishing- weather  once  more ! 

Long  before  they  reached  his  street,  the 
new  boy  had  caught  the  sound  of  their  shrill- 


14  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


noted  merriment.  With  an  animal-like  in- 
stinct common  to  his  kind,  he  had  guessed 
and  understood  everything.  They  were  going 
fishing ! 

He  wondered,  in  a  foolish  little  flutter  of 
hope,  if  they  would  call  companionably  in  as 
they  passed,  just  hollering  off-hand  over  the 
fence  for  hin  to  get  a  move  on,  and  come 
along  if  he  wanted  to ! 

Then  the  new  hoy  remembered  the  events 
of  the  day  before,  and  the  hope  died  down. 
Certain  disturbing  signs  had  already  been 
driven  home  to  him.  He  was  an  outlander, 
an  intruder,  with  his  right  still  unestablished. 
And  besides  all  that,  things  were  not  going  to 
come  out  right,  bitterly  maintained  Lonely 
O'M alley.  Nothing  good  ever  came  of  get- 
ting at  a  place  on  Friday  —  there  was  trouble 
ahead,  of  some  kind.  And  twice  on  the  way, 
too,  he  had  seen  a  black  cat,  plain  as  day, 
on  his  path. 

For  Lonely  O'Malley  was  indeed  a  new 
boy  in  Chamboro.  From  the  sandy  little 
neighboring  hills,  the  afternoon  before,  he  had 
caught  a  disconsolate  sight  of  the  sleepy  old 
town,  basking  like  a  gray  kitten  in  the  sun, 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  15 

under  a  sky  far  more  cloudless  than  Lonely's 
unhappy  soul. 

It  was,  to  him,  neither  a  moving  nor  an 
inviting  sight,  that  first  glimpse  of  his  new 
home ;  for  like  many  another  strange  town, 
Chamboro  lay  sprawling  brokenly  along  the 
valley  of  a  strange  river  which  twined  and 
curled  and  wound  slumbrously  down  through 
a  dark  and  alien  country,  wooded  with  maple 
and  willow  and  sycamore.  Through  the  limpid 
valley  quietness  of  the  May  afternoon  rose 
the  puffing  and  churning  of  a  river-tug  or  two, 
the  rhythmical  cling-clang  of  the  blacksmith's 
anvil,  the  periodic  hum  and  whine  and  scream 
of  the  sawmill.  But  the  hills  here  seemed  to 
stretch  before  him  not  half  so  green  as  the 
cider  and  fairer  hills  of  remembrance.  The 
water  here  seemed  not  half  so  silvery  as  was 
the  river  at  Cowansburg.  The  bobolinks  and 
bluebirds  could  not  sing  so  well,  the  very 
cherry-blossoms  did  not  smell  so  good.  To 
this  bald  new  country,  indeed,  clung  none  of 
that  golden  enchantment  which  haloed  :he 
new  boy's  lost  home,  now  forty  long  miles 
behind  him.  And  Lonely  felt  so  bad  about 
it  all  that  he  wondered  whether  or  not  he  was 


i6  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


drawing  near  to  an  untimely  death,  — and  to 
be  on  the  safe  side,  secretly  made  his  will,  up 
in  the  hay-loft,  and  duly  signed  it  in  his  own 
blood. 

The  migration  from  Cowansburg  had  not 
been  of  a  kind  to  suit  Lonely *s  spirit.  It  had 
been  effected  slowly,  placidly,  and  laboriously, 
by  means  of  a  venerable  old  wagon  from  which 
two  hub-bands  and  five  wheel  spokes  were 
conspicuously  absent,  together  with  a  raw- 
boned,  long-haired,  and  ineffably  meek-spirited 
steed  of  gigantic  proportions,  answering  to 
the  name  of  Plato. 

Tied  to  the  tail-board  of  the  wagon  with 
a  piece  of  clothes-line,  had  followed  Lonely's 
faithful  goat,  Gilead,  —  a  stubbornly  home- 
loving  creature,  who,  on  different  occasions, 
had  been  duly  sold  or  traded  to  nineteen  youths 
of  Cowansburg,  only  at  the  first  opportunity 
to  return  to  his  original  owner,  with  a  blind 
and  indomitable  instinct  that  was  as  profitable 
as  it  was  touching. 

Lonely,  for  this  overland  journey  through 
a  new  and  unknown  country,  had  armed 
himself  with  great  care  and  forethought.  A 
kitchen  knife  had  been  secretly  pointed  and 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  17 

sharpened,  even  a  hickory  bow  and  arrow  had 
been  strapped  on  the  wagon's  back  axle.  His 
calico  waist  had  also  bulged 
out  on  the  one  side  with 
a  long-used  and  well-tried 
sling- shot,  on  the  other 
with  a  goodly  stock  of 
leaden  pellets,  made  by 
means  of  a  rusty  old  bullet- 
mould,  hired  from  a  com- 
rade spirit  for  the  occasion. 

But  neither  buffalo  nor 
Indian  had  crossed  Lone- 
ly's  path.   Not  a  wild  ani- 
mal had  molested  them;    armed  himself  with 
not  even  a  road-agent  had  ^^^"^ 
interrupted  their  journey,  nor  a  highwayman 
prowled  about  their  camp  ! 

To  Lonely  it  had  seemed  very  slow  travel- 
ing. For  on  his  broken-springed  and  sadly 
overloaded  wagon  the  adventurous  Timothy 
O'Malley,  lately  returned  from  the  gold-fields 
of  the  Klondike,  carried  not  only  all  his  goods 
and  chattels,  but  also  his  own  inebriate  seF 
and  his  pensive-browed,  hollow-cheeked  wife, 
to  say  nothing  of  a  lusty-throated  infant  daugh- 


i8  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

ter,  named  Alaska  Alice,— so  christened  in 
honor  of  the  sturdy  mustang  which  had  once 
dragged  the  wandering  gold-seeker  over  White 
Pass  and  delivered  him  for  the  last  lime  from 
the  hardships  of  a  most  inglorious  and  unre- 
munerative  vagabondage.  Learning  of  an 
opening  in  Chamboro,  Timothy  O'Malley 
was  turning  from  the  glories  of  the  Open  Trail 
to  his  humble  but  honest  old  trade  of  bread- 
making. 

There  had  been  a  great  deal  of  talk,  in 
Chamboro,  of  the  affluent  yoiing  Klondiker 
who  was  to  take  up  his  residence  in  that  busy 
and  progressive  town.  Much  speculation  was 
indulged  in  as  to  whether  the  newcomer  would 
enter  into  the  banking  business,  conduct  l  me 
sort  of  brokerage  concern,  or  live  in  quiet  lux- 
ury on  the  harvests  of  his  northern  adventu»-es. 

When,  accordingly,  the  O'Malley  equipage, 
after  a  humble  but  happy  enough  all-night 
camp  on  the  roadside  trail,  appeared  unex- 
pectedly on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  there 
was  a  sudden  great  to-do  in  the  streets  of 
Chamboro.  As  Plato,  with  his  languid  yet 
majestic  stride,  slowly  hauled  the  strange  load 
into  the  little  town,  lending  to  the  invasion 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  19 

the  solemnity  of  a  cata&lque,  there  was  much 
barking  of  dogs,  and  bobbing  of  heads  from 
open  windows,  and  crowding  of  doorways,  and 
calling  over  back-yard  fences. 


NOW,  WHAT  STRANGE  CRAFT  MIGHT  THAT  BE  ? 

As  for  the  dogs,  Lonely's  sling-shot  myste- 
riously though  effectively  attended  to  them, 
desperately  engaged  as  he  was  in  holding  upon 


ao       *    LONELY  O'MALLEY 

the  top  of  the  load  six  lengths  of  stovepipe 
and  an  ever-sliding  mattress.  The  resentment 
of  Lonely's  father  was  more  open,  for  in  the 
very  main  street  of  all  Chamboro  he  publicly 
flung  two  empty  whiskey-bottles  at  the  Barri- 
son's  bull-pup — a  fact  which  was  duly  noted, 
remembered,  and  commented  on. 

"  Now,  what  strange  craft  might  that  be  ? " 
querulously  demanded  old  Cap'n  Sands,  of  old 
Cap'n  Steiner,  as  the  two  bent  figures  leaned 
on  their  sticks  and  watched  her  float  majestic- 
ally into  port. 

Yet  so  remarkably  did  the  O'Malley  con- 
veyance resemble  a  gypsy  camp  in  transit  that 
many  of  the  smaller  children  fled  incontinently, 
while  the  fat  old  town  constable  guardedly 
followed  the  strange  vehicle  to  its  destination. 
And  when  it  was  discovered  that  the  once 
myth-like  and  much-talked-of  Argonaut  of 
the  Frozen  North  was  to  occupy  the  humble 
little  house  and  bake-shop  of  the  late  Widow 
Elkins,  and  that  he  had  boasted  of  being  able 
to  mix,  mould,  and  bake  six  hundred  loaves 
a  night,  the  town  of  Chamboro  felt  that  it 
had  been  cheated  out  of  some  glory,  vaguely 
denominated,  it  is  true,  but  still  a  glory.  Nor 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  21 


had  the  first  impression  of  the  O'Malley  fiun- 
ily  been  changed  by  the  discovery  that,  pend- 
ing the  re-shingling  of  their  house,  they  were 
camping  out  in  the  front  yard,  cheerfully  and 
contentedly,  under  the  smoke-stained  canvas 
of  the  very  tent  which  had  once  stood  amid 
the  subarctic  snows  of  Twenty  Mile  Creek. 

All  this  Lonely  had  seen  and  resented.  So 
as  he  caught  sight  of  the  barefooted,  reckless 
bandy  that  bright  Saturday  morning,  and  heard 
their  telltale  whistles  and  shouts  and  cat-calls, 
he  had  a  little  battle  of  his  own  to  fight  out. 
He  wondered,  in  a  moment  of  weakness,  if 
it  would  not  be  better  to  hide  Alaska  Alice. 
He  remembered  the  odium  attaching  to  the 
boy  who  openly  "minded  the  baby."  An 
avocation  so  servile  and  effeminate  branded 
one,  he  was  fully  aware,  as  with  the  brand  of 
Cain.  Yet  he  took  his  own  joy,  he  knew,  in 
the  company  of  Alaska  Alice.  He  even  had 
a  sneaking  love  for  toting  her  about.  And 
he  was  n't  going  back  on  her.  Animal-like,  he 
pugnaciously  claimed  the  right  to  stand  by  his 
own. 

He  saw  the  band  stop  in  front  of  the 
Preacher's  house,  and  in  buttery  and  gleeful 


22  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

imitation  of  an  over-affectionate  mother's 
voice  call  out:  «  Lio-o-o-o-nel !  Lio-o-o-o-nel 
Clarence!"  and  then  inquire,  mockingly,  if 
Curly  Locks  wanted  to  come  fishing. 

At  this  Lonely  remembered  that  the  Preach- 
er's son  wore  his  hair  in  longish  yellow-brown 
curls,  and  dressed,  usually,  in  a  black  velvet 
suit,  with  ruffles,  and  a  hopeless  white  collar. 

So  Lonely  looked  at  Alaska  Alice  once 
more,  half  affectionately,  half  defiantly,  and 
realized  that  his  Waterloo  was  not  far  away. 
He  made  one  desperate  effort,  while  there  was 
still  time,  to  waken  the  grass-gorged  and  rumi- 
nant Plato  from  an  attitude  of  hopeless  and 
demeaning  melancholy.  This  he  tried  to  do 
by  means  of  an  adroitly  flung  pebble  or  two. 
Plato,  however,  instead  of  being  stung  out 
of  his  woe-begone  abjection  by  these  unjust 
missiles,  merely  whisked  his  thin  tail  languidly 
and  stood  on  three  legs,  in  meek  and  monu- 
mental pensiveness. 

Then  Lonely  waited  for  the  outcome. 

"  Git  onto  the  bone-yard ! "  cried  a  voice 
from  the  advance  guard  of  the  approaching 
enemy.  A  moment  later  a  stone  or  two  fell 
about  the  old  horse. 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  23 

"  An'  look  at  Irish,  mindin'  the  baby  !  "  was 
the  next  derisive  cry  that  smote  on  Lonely *s 
tingling  ears. 

"  Lambast  the  redhead ! "  suggested  Pud 
Jones,  genially. 

Lonely  caught  up  Alaska  Alice  and  hunched 
her  up  firmly  on  his  hip,  his  body  between  her 
and  the  assailers.   His  thin,  hungry-looking 


AUDACIOV8,  JEERING,  TYRANNICAL 

face  went  very  white,  as  the  line  of  audacious, 
jeering,  tyrannical,  relentless  young  savages 
drew  up  and  peered  over  the  low  picket  fence. 

He  was,  he  knew,  at  least  standing  his 
ground  with  dignity.  And  all  might  still  have 


24  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

been  well,  had  not  Alaska  Alice  set  up  a  sud- 
den, energetic,  and  inopportune  wail,  which 
grew  into  a  bawl,  and  from  a  bawl  became 
a  paroxysm. 

A  shout  of  derisive  laughter  swelled  up  from 
the  street.  A  tomato  can  hit  Lonely  on  the 
shin-bone,  a  pebble  or  two  cut  through  the 
canvas  of  the  little  tent. 

"  Soak  the  gypsies ! "  cried  Redney  Mc- 
Williams,  as  he  took  one  last  sly  fling  at  the 
meek-eyed  Plato. 

"Ain't  this  the  Klondike  millionaire's?" 
mocked  another. 

"  Say,  Sis,  what  y'  doin'  in  boy's  clothes  ? " 
demanded  Piggie  Brennan,  sweetly,  as  he 
kicked  the  little  front  gate  open. 

Lonely  winced  at  that  stab,  and  took  a  dark 
and  studious  look  at  the  offender.  There, 
above  all,  he  told  himself,  was  an  enemy  he 
was  to  remember  and  an  offense  he  was  to 
wipe  out ! 

The  band  drifted  aimlessly  on,  and  a  min- 
ute later  was  cutting  fishing-poles  from  the 
Gubtill's  lilac-bushes.  They  had  not  even  so 
much  as  offered  to  fight !  They  had  not  even 
sent  forth  the  inevitable  challenge  to  the  New 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  25 

Boy  !  And  Lonely's  last  hope  of  companion- 
ship crumbled  away. 

The  boy's  mother,  startled  by  the  loud 
voices,  came  to  the  door,  with  a  scrubbing- 
brush  in  her  hand.  She  gazed  down  the  street 
after  the  disappearing  band. 

"  I  guess  I  could  keep  an  eye  on  Alaska 
Alice  ! "  she  hinted,  as  she  caught  the  sound 
of  the  shrill,  boyish  voices,  blown  back  to  the 
doorway  where  she  stood. 

"  Ain't  I  mindin'  her  ?  "  demanded  Lonely, 
moodily. 

The  woman  gazed  down  at  the  solitary 
figure,  and  then  out  at  the  dusty  road,  studded 
with  the  prints  of  many  bare  feet.  From 
somewhere  in  the  distance  a  few  hens  clucked 
drowsily. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  go  fishing  ? " 

"  Nope  !  "  said  the  boy,  as  he  hitched  im- 
patiently at  his  blue  denim  overalls. 

"  You  —  you  don't  want  to  go  with  those 
other  boys  ? "  she  repeated,  amazed. 

He  glanced  down  the  dust-covered  street, 
after  the  happy  little  band,  and  was  silent. 
They  were  playing  "  Last-Tag  "  now,  and  he 
could  hear  the  old  reftain : 


26  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


Nigpct  's  always  last  tag! 
Fools  always  say  so! 

Up  a  tree  and  down  a  tree; 

You  're  the  oiggest  fool  I  know! 

"  Go  on,  Lonely,  and  have  a  good  time 
with  the  others  ! "  said  his  mother,  commis- 

eratively,  once  more  looking  back  at  the  des- 
olate figure  in  the  bald  little  sunlit  yard. 

Lonely  gazed  at  Plato,  flung  a  stone  at  the 
fence,  and  peered  angrily  out  from  under  his 
sandy  little  eyebrow  at  his  mother.  She  did 
not  understand. 

"  Don't  want  to !  " 

"  Go  on.  Lonely,"  she  urged  once  more. 

"  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  to  go  fishin'!  "  he 
shrilled  out  testily.  And  then  he  spat  hard, 
a  couple  of  times,  to  get  rid  of  the  sudden 
lump  in  his  throat. 

His  mother  went  back  to  her  work.  The 
sound  of  his  father's  hammer  echoed  more 
and  more  unevenly  from  the  back  roof —  due 
to  the  fact  that  much  stimulant  had  been 
called  into  service  to  brace  the  gold-miner's 
nerves  against  labor  so  dull  and  menial.  The 
chorus  of  boy  voices  grew  fainter  aud  far  away. 
They  passed  down  through  the  watery  Flats, 


FINDS  HIMSELF  AN  OUTLANDER  27 

and  out  through  the  wooded  gloom  of  the 
Upper  River. 

Only  now  and  then  Lonely  could  hear 
a  low  little  burst  of  laughter  and  calling,  a 
mufHed  shout  or  two.  Through  the  clear, 
opalescent  air  he  caught  sight  of  the  smoke 
from  their  bonfire.  He  watched  it  drift  and 
fade  and  melt  down  the  river  valley.  A  dog 
barked  in  the  distance,  dismally.  The  sun 
mounted  higher  and  higher  in  the  cloudless 
sky. 

"  'Laska  Alice,  do  you  know  what  you  Ve 
up  and  done  ? "  sternly  demanded  Lonely. 

The  innocent  young  lady  thus  contem- 
platively addressed  continued  to  clutch  at 
a  dandelion  head  '•h  ineffectual  fingers,  bub- 
bling and  crooning  with  untimely  joy. 

"'Laska  Alice,"  repeated  the  boy,  medi- 
tatively, "  I  think  you  've  been  my  finish, 
all  right ! " 

And  he  looked  own  at  her  studiously, 
but  with  no  resentment  in  his  vacant  eyes,  as 
he  remembered,  half  bitterly,  that  this  was  the 
town  where  he  had  dreamed  that  trumpeters  in 
green  tights  like  the  trapeze  performers  at  the 
circus,  were  to  ride  out  and  greet  him,  and  for 


28  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


a  whole  day  the  fountains  were  to  run  with 
wine,  and  the  Princess  was  to  beckon  down  to 
him  from  her  Tower  ! 

Even  a  good  fight,  he  felt  in  that  dark 
hour,  would  have  made  him  seem  more  at 
home. 


To  Alicia  —  Mtat.  20 


When  you  made  custard  tarts  —  of  mud — 
Which  Twee  die  vowed  delicious  - 

And  I  with  popguns  sought  the  blooa 
Of  Red- Men,  huge  and  vicious  — 

That  was  oar  glad,  mad,  rainbow  age. 

Those  days  when  we  together 
Climied  thre*  the  orchard  wall  to  wage 

Such  wars  —  in  lath  and  feather  ! 

I  sit  and  ponder  sadly  o'er 

Each  wound  of  poor  old  Twee  die  — 
Who  shed  her  sawdust  brave  before 

Her  nurse  could  find  a  needle  ! 

We  sttrrigd  and  took  each  orchard  tree  — 
True,  long  the  foe  resisted  !  — 

Then  gave  each  captive,  for  his  tea. 
Mud-pies,  as  you  insisted  ! 

But  now,  they  say,  your  trousseau 's  made. 
And  you,  poor  child,  will  shortly 

Be  married  to  a  person  staid. 

And  r  :h,  though  somewhat  portly  ! 

Ah,  me  !  My  south,  mud-pies,  and  fou. 
Are  gone  —  gone  past  recover  ! 

Yet,  Dear,  I*m  still  your  old  and  true 
And  one  unchanging  lover! 


CHAPTER  11 


In  which  the  King  is  again  disowned 

SONNY,  have  you  lost  a  goat?  " 
"  Mebbe!  "  answered  Lonely,  non-com- 
mittally,  eyeing  the  angular  and  angry-eyed 
woman  in  the  pink  sunbonnet. 

"  Well,  that  goat  *s  et  up  every  blessed  one 
of  my  black  raspberry  bushes  !  "  declared  the 
unknown  woman,  looking  at  Lonely  as  though 
she  could  willingly  have  done  the  same  with  him. 

"  That 's  too  bad  !  "  said  the  new  boy,  blink- 
ing at  the  pink  sunbonnet.  His  coolness  had 
far  from  a  pacifying  effect. 

"And  that  goat  goes  to  pound,  young  man, 
till  them  bushes  is  paid  for,  and  well  paid  for  1 " 
stormed  the  woman. 

"  All  right  I  "  said  Lonely,  moodily.  He 
had  other  troubles  to  occupy  his  mind. 

The  pink  sunbonnet  disappeared.  A  few 
minutes  later  the  sound  of  shrill  screams  rang 
through  the  quiet  village  street. 

Lonely  ventured  tentatively  forth,  to  take 
in  the  situation.  Three  gateways  beyond  his 


32  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

own  house  he  found  the  woman  of  the  pink 
sunbonnet  marooned  on  the  box  of  her  chain- 
pump,  with  Gilead  keeping  guard  below,  dog- 
gedly. He  had  been  attacked  with  a  kettleful 
of  hot  water ;  but  the  engagement  had  been 
a  brief  one. 

It  was  only  after  exacting  a  promise  that 
nothing  more  should  be  said  of  the  black  rasp- 
berry bushes,  that  Lonely  dragged  Gilead 
away;  and,  having  made  a  bird-snare  into 
which  even  the  Chamboro  sparrows  resent- 
fully declined  to  poke  their  heads,  he  once 
more  loitered  ill  at  ease  about  his  own  yard, 
a  bitter  and  rebellious  young  Ishmaelite,  see- 
ing that  Alaska  Alice  did  not  fall  out  of  her 
cart,  and  making  sure  that  the  omnivorous 
Plato  did  not  extend  his  browsing  exercises 
to  the  fomily  furniture.  He  was  still  brood- 
ing about  the  way  in  which  he  had  been  re- 
ceived in  Chamboro,  where  not  an  advance 
had  been  made  to  him,  and  not  a  subject  had 
paid  fealty  to  him.  And  he  could  have  told 
them  more  about  shiners  and  mud-cat  and 
sunfish  than  could  all  the  village  Solomons 
put  tc^ether.  He,  the  one-time  boy  king  of 
Cowansburg,  could  have  shown  them  how  to 


THE  KING  IS  AGAIN  DISOWNED  33 

snare  more  bull-frogs  than  Chainlioro  ever 
dreamed  of.  He  could  have  taught  them 
more  about  bird-nesting,  and  more  about 


MAROONED  ON  THE  TOP  OP  HER  CHAIN-PUMP 


twitch-ups  and  dead-falls  and  box-traps  and 
fishing-otters,  than  could  the  oldest  naturalist 
on  the  river. 

And  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  take 


34  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

a  second  and  longer  look  at  Lonely  O'Mailey, 
as  he  prowls  so  moodily  about  between  those 
imprisoning  home  fences. 

Beyond  a  trick  of  nervously  hunching  up 
one  shoulder,  of  wriggling  his  body  when 
talking,  and  squinting  at  people,  especially  his 
elders,  he  is,  after  all,  only  a  good  deal  of  the 
every-day,  ubiquitous,  dream-weaving,  nonde- 
script and  nujch  misunderstood  creature  known 
as  Boy.  It  was  only  in  the  merest  accidentals, 
such  as  being  powder-marked  on  the  right 
cheek-bone,  that  he  differed  from  others  of 
his  kind. 

The  first  thing  one  would  be  sure  to  notice 
about  Lonely  was  a  nebulous  cloud  of  freckles, 
as  brown  as  the  spots  on  a  turkey  egg,  bridging 
his  rather  crooked  little  nose.  His  thin  young 
face  was  always  hungry-looking,  wearing  obvi- 
ously the  hunger  of  the  soul  and  not  that  of 
the  body,  since  Lonely,  even  after  his  seventh 
apple  turn-over,  still  bore  his  wistful  look  of 
want.  His  hair  was  a  dingy  reddish-brown, 
thick  and  matted,  sprouting  waywardly  up 
throus^h  the  rents  in  his  tattered  old  skull-cap, 
giving  every  evidence  of  that  time-honored 
home-treatment,  demanding  only  a  bowl  and 


THE  KING  'S  ATtAIN  DISOWNED  35 

a  pair  of  scissors — though  later  in  the  sum- 
mer, it  must  be  confessed,  a  friendly  groom 
at  the  livery-stable  put  this  crude  method  to 
shame  by  brief  yet  transforming  applications 
of  the  horse-clippers. 

From  under  Lonely's  bushy  little  russet  eye- 
brows looked  out  a  pair  of  eyes  which  had  no 
r%ht  to  be  there ;  for  they  were,  in  truth,  the 
eyes  of  a  woman,  —  unfathomable,  lustrous, 
quick-changing,  restlessly  meditative  eyes, — 
the  sort  of  eyes,  for  all  the  nervous  squint  that 
often  came  into  them,  that  made  tender-hearted 
women  vaguely  wish,  when  they  chanced  to 
catch  sight  of  Lonely  in  a  moment  of  fleeting 
and  innocent  repose,  that  they  might  some  day 
be  his  Sunday-school  teacher  and  talk  to  him 
about  his  soul.  They  were  eyes  that  made  the 
hearts  of  more  elderly  maiden  ladies,  when  not 
indignantly  driving  their  predaceous  owner  out 
of  a  strawberry  patch,  wish  just  as  incongru- 
ously that  they  could  some  day  be  a  mother 
to  Lonely,  and  at  the  same  time  speculate  as 
to  how  nice  he  would  be  with  a  well-washed 
&ce,  or  in  a  clean  and  respectably  starched 
roundabout. 

If,  *4a8 !  those  undb  ming  and  deluded 


36  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

ladies  had  let  their  gaze  Ml  a  little  lower  and 
studied  Lonely's  most  significant  and  eloquent 
members,  his  sinewy  and  scrawny  young  legs, 
they  might  have  hesitated  for  a  moment  or 
two.  For  those  gently  concave,  bandy  legs  of 
Lonely's  veritably  seemed  built  for  shinning 
up  apple-trees,  for  scaling  orchard  fences,  for 
worming  under  wood-sheds  and  careering 
through  melon-patches,  for  that  airy  "  frog- 
motion"  which  is  the  pride  of  all  youthful 
swimmers,  and,  finally,  for  the  general  destruc- 
tion of  those  garments  which  are  the  despair 
of  all  experienced  mothers. 

His  gnarled  and  crooked  little  fingers,  too, 
were  equally  expressive,  cut  and  scarred  and 
marked  as  they  were,  embellished  with  a  sup- 
ply of  warts  which  had  so  far  defied  every  art 
of  conjuration,  every  spell  and  incantation  for 
their  removal,  fi-om  burying  beefsteak  under  a 
full  moon  to  assiduous  anointment  with  "witch- 
oil." 

When  idle.  Lonely  had  the  habit  of  twitch- 
ing these  fingers  restlessly  (nervous  women  he 
could  always  put  to  rout  by  merely  working 
his  double-jointed  thumbs).  Likewise,  he  had 
the  somewhat  irritating  habit  of  knocking  his 


THE  KING  IS  AGAIN  DISOWNED  37 


heels  together.  At  such  times  he  usually  fell 
to  whistling,  always  out  of  time  and  out  of 
tune,'  with  one  shoulder  hunched  ominously 
up  and  his  bushy  russet  eyebrows  drawn  darkly 
down.  He  was,  in  fact,  precisely  the  sort  of  boy 
you  would  suspect  if  you  chanced  to  find  your 
Crawford's  Early  ravi^d  of  its  last  peach,  or 
if  your  English  setter  happened  to  be  discov- 
ered under  the  back  piazza  with  a  watering- 
can  tied  to  his  tail. 

Yet  the  next  day,  as  you  glanced  into 
Lonely's  starry  and  hungry-looking  eyes,  you 
might  be  nervously  wondering  if,  after  all,  he 
really  got  enough  to  eat  at  home.   Or  you 

'  Lonely  was,  in  fact,  quite  tone-deaf.   Yet  just  how 

blind  he  was  to  this  defect  may  be  seen  from  the  fact  that 
when  the  Cowanshurg  School  began  practicing  for  the  an- 
nual Christmas  Cantata,  Lonely  boldly  volunteered  as  one  of 
the  soprano  voices.  He  escaped  detection  by  simply  mouth- 
ing, and  making  no  sound,  when  the  teacher  chanced  to 
stand  at  his  end  of  the  smguig  line.  One  day,  however, 
carried  away  by  the  joyous  rapture  of  the  music.  Lonely 
absent-mindedly  poured  out  his  cacophonous  young  soul, 
off  key  and  out  of  tunc,  to  a  bewildered  and  admiring  class. 
The  teacher  listened,  illuminated,  and  Lonely  was  cruelly 
and  peremptorily  weeded  out  and  gected  —  to  his  luting 
shame  and  sorrow ! 


I 


38 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


might  surprise  yourself  by  solemnly  asking 
his  advice  about  mole-traps  and  the  best  way 
of  getting  rid  of  the  striped  cucumber-bug. 

So  to  the  bitter  end,  you  see.  Lonely 
O'Malley  must  remain  a  very  incongruous 
muddle-up,  a  contradictory,  evasive,  ordinary, 
mortal  boy,  —  a  little  more  sinewy  about  the 
shoulders,  a  little  wilder  and  less  learnedly 
ignprant,  a  little  more  artful  and  irv  ,  .  e, 
than  may  have  been  many  of  his  ki.  •  jut 
still  made  up  of  that  ancient  and  eterr  "  .  fix- 
ture of  good  and  bad  which  makes  one  boy 
so  like  another. 

Sorrow  could  not  lie  long  on  that  restless, 
hunched-up  shoulder  of  Lonely's ;  and  as  his 
first  long  Saturday  morning  in  Chamboro  wore 
away,  his  earlier  sense  of  misery  went  with  it. 
He  had  just  gone  through  his  complete 
pertoire  of  animal  sounds,  a  performance  of 
untiring  delight  to  the  gurgling  Alaska  Alice, 
when  he  became  suddenly  aware  of  an  unin- 
vited auditor  in  a  red  dress.  This  auditor  took 
the  form  of  a  pair  of  very  yellow  braids,  a 
pair  of  very  pink  cheeks,  and  a  pair  of  very 
blue  eyes  peering  in  at  him  through  the  fence- 
pickets. 


J 


r 


THE  KING  IS  AGAIN  DISOWNED  39 

At  these  he  promptly  turned,  and  made 
a  face  —  an  indescribable  contortion  of  the 
features,  in  which  he  expressed  all  his  old-time, 
unutterable,  a^kd  implacable  contempt  for  the 
softer  sex. 

At  that  the  little  girl  with  the  yellow  braids 
bobbed  do  vn  her  head  and  drew  back,  abashed. 
Recovering  herself,  she  continued  on  her  jour- 
ney erratically  down  the  sidewalk,  her  other- 
wise strange  hesitations  and  gyrations  being 
due  to  a  supreme  effort  to  avoid  each  and 
every  crevice,  for,  she  artlessly  sang  to  herself 
as  she  went : 

Step  on  a  crack  — 

Break  your  mother's  hack  ! 

As  she  passed  in  front  of  the  bake-shop  she 
came  to  a  stop,  and  g^ed  pensively  up  at 
the  iron  railing  which  guarded  the  little  show- 
window.  Her  thoughts  were  traveling  back  to 
the  winter  day  when,  in  ecstatic  contemplation 
of  the  sweets  within,  she  had  absent-mindedly 
essayed  to  suck  the  frosty  iron  —  and  had 
straightway  stuck  to  it. 

Already  she  saw  signs  of  a  new  stock  for 
that  old,  alluring  window.   And  she  was  a 


40  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


young  lady  of  much  forethought.  So  she 
decided  to  forgive  the  new  baker's  son. 

Lonely  himself  grew  tired  of  the  silence 
and  the  quietness.  He  glanced  furtively  up 
the  street  after  the  little  girl  with  the  yellow 
braids.  She  was  returning  now,  with  slow  and 
measured  tread,  her  hands  crossed  before  her, 
her  head  bowed  with  grief.  She  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  Lonely,  as  she  passed  solemnly  by. 

"  What  are  y*  playin'  ?  "  asked  the  New 
Boy,  tentatively. 

"Widow,"  answered  the  girl  with  the  yel- 
low braids. 

"Widow— what's  that?" 
"  My  husband,  just  died ;  I 'm  in  mournin' 
for  him  ! "  she  explained  sadly,  with  a  bit  of 
a  lisp  as  she  spoke. 

"  H'h  ! "  scoffed  Lonely ;  "  how  can  you  be 
in  mournin',  in  a  red  dress  ? " 

Here  was  a  stickler,  indeed.  But  the  young 
widow  was  resourceful. 

"Oh,  well,  my  husband  died  o'  scarlet 
fever ! "  she  said,  triumphantly.  Then  she 
climbed  up  on  the  footboard  and  leaned  in  over 
the  fence.  There  she  stood  and  gazed  at  Plato 
with  well-meant  but  unfortunate  solicitude. 


THE  KING  IS  AGAIN  DISOWNED  41 

*•  Don't  you  ever  feed  him  things  ? "  she 
inquired  softly. 

Lonely  glared  at  his  questioner,  fiercely 


another  three. 

"  Oh,  and  you  Ve  got  a  baby  !  "  cried  the 
little  girl. 

"  She  ain't  mine !  "  explained  Lonely,  hast- 
ily. 

«  But  isnU  she  a  darling?"  The  little  girl 
in  red  had  been  sizing  up  the  bake-shop  win- 
dow. 


42  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


"  She  ain't  much ! "  deprecated  LoneIy» 
melting  a  little.  There  was  a  moment's  si- 
lence. 

"  Are  n't  you  the  new  baker's  little  boy  ?  " 
she  next  demanded,  looking  n  him  with  wide- 
open  eyes.  Her  attitude  was  plainly  conciliat- 
ing, her  tone  was  companionable,  and  after  all, 
decided  Lonely,  a  girl  was  at  least  something 
to  talk  to. 

"Yep!"  he  answered,  carelessly  slinging  a 
stone  at  a  telephone  pole,  neatly  smashing  the 
insulating  glass,  and  allowing  the  "  little  boy  " 
to  pass. 

"  We 've  had  the  scarletina  in  our  house  !  " 
she  said  proudly,  as  she  opened  the  gate  and 
crept  in.  "  That 's  why  all  my  dolls  is  naked." 

"  They  was  boiled,  so  people  can't  catch  it 
off  *em,"  she  explained,  in  answer  to  Lonely's 
puzzled  frown. 

"  What 's  your  name  ? "  demanded  Lonely. 

She  told  him  that  it  was  Annie  Eliza  Gub- 
till. 

"  What 's  yours  ?  " 

"  Just  Lonely  —  Lonely  O'Malley  !  "  He 
tried  to  say  it  airily  and  ofF-hand,  but  his  face 
grew  hot  over  the  demeaning  and  unusual 


THE  KING  IS  AGAIN  DISOWNED  43 

necessity  of  explaining  who  he  was  —  be,  once 
the  best-known  boy  in  all  Cowansburg.  But 
Cowansburg,  at  that  moment,  seemed  very 
hx  away. 

"  Lonely!  ITbat  a  funny  name!"  avowed 
Annie  Eliza.  "  Was  you  called  that  because 
no  one  would  ever  come  in  an*  play  with 
'  you?" 

"  Huh  ?  "  snorted  Lonely.  "  Not  much, 

I  guess  I " 

"  Then  how  did  you  ever  get  such  a  funny 
name  ? " 

"  It  ain't  so  funny,  when  you  get  used  to 
it ;  it 's  just  a  name  —  same  as  yours  or 
anybody  else's  !  " 

"  I  s'pose  so,"  soliloquized  Annie  Eliza. 
She  was  persistent,  however. 

"  But  were  n't  you  lonely,  or  something, 
when  they  called  you  that?" 

"  Naw  !  "  said  the  boy,  in  disgust. 

Then  he  hunched  a  shoulder  up  and 
squinted  a  little  —  always  an  ominous  sign 
to  those  who  knew  him. 

"  I  was  bom  twins,  at  first,"  he  explained 
feelingly.  «  But  the  other  one  of  us,  he  up  an' 
died,  an*  left  me  all  alone ! " 


44  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

Annie  Eliza's  face  twisted,  and  she  showed 
signs  of  impending  tears,  at  this  sad  confes- 
sion. 

"  Then  the  docter,  he  wrapped  me  up  in  a 
blanket,  and  he  brung  me  over  to  maw,  an'  he 
put  me  in  the  bed  next  to  her,  an'  he  says, 
*  This  lonely  little  fellow,  you  '11  have  him  to 

look  after.'  An'  maw,  she  said, '  Poor,  lonely 
little  fellow.'  An'  she  says  it  kind  o'  stuck, 
that  word,  and  so  she  just  called  me  Lonely, ' 

right  along." 

Annie  Eliza  wiped  her  eyes,  and  Lonely, 
the  artist,  gloried  in  his  work,  seeing  it  was 
good.  Then  he  wakened,  as  from  a  dream, 
and  testily  demanded  of  himself  just  why  he 
had  stooped  to  such  easy  triumphs. 

"  Can  you  come  an'  play  with  Lionel  Clar- 
ence and  me,  sometimes  ?  "  Annie  Eliza  was 
asking  him. 

'  This  touching  and  fanciful  explanation,  I  regret  to  say, 
is  and  always  was  quite  destitute  of  historical  foundation, 
notwithstanding  the  persistence  and  feeling  with  which 
Lonely  repeated  it  when  occasion  demanded.  "  Lonely," 
indeed,  wu  a  boyhood  corruption  of  his  mother's  patro- 
nymic, "Lomely,"  —  a  corruption,  however,  which  had 
clung  and  was  to  cling  to  Masta  O'Malley  for  many  yean. 


THE  KING  IS  AGAIN  DISOWNED  45 

"  Mebbe,"  he  sourly  conceded. 
An  awkward  silence  fell  over  the  two  new 
fricn  is. 

"Do  you  want  to  see  my  cut?"  the  girl 
finally  asked  him.  This  was  the  supreme  mark 
of  her  good  will. 

He  admired  it  as  he  ought.  He  was  on  the 

point  of  exhibiting  to  her  his  double-jointed 
thumbs,  an  exhibition  for  which  of  old  he  had 
invariably  demanded  twenty  pins,  when  he 
remembered  himself,  and  strove  desperately  to 
rise  above  any  such  ingratiating  advances  — 
humbled,  broken,  and  desolate  as  he  was. 
He  asked  neither  the  pity  nor  the  friendship 
of  women  folks.  And  he  threw  a  vindictive 
pebble  or  two  at  Plato,  each  missile  smiting  so 
soundly  on  his  ribs  that  Annie  Eliza  was  moved 
to  ejaculate  an  almost  tearful  "  Oh  !  " 

"  The  poor  thing ! "  she  murmured,  forget- 
fully. 

"  He  ain't  so  poor ! "  maintained  Lonely. 
"That's  his  way  — he's  one  of  the  bony 
kind!" 

"Oh,  I  sec!"  said  Annie  Eliza.  A  little 
sigh  of  sympathy  escaped  her,  however,  as  she 
looked  at  Plato  still  again. 


46  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

«  But  why  don't  you  have  a  nicer  bekin* 
horse  ? "  she  persisted. 

Then  came  another  of  Lonely's  dangerous 
moments.  He  saw  red,  and  murdered  Truth. 
That  Plato  had  been  purchased  for  fourteen 
dollars  on  the  market  square  of  Cowansburg, 
and  had  been  looked  upon,  first  as  an  instru- 
ment of  the  intended  migration,  and  later  as 
a  docile  and  patient  steed  for  the  bake-shop 
delivery  wagon,  no  longer  troubled  Lonely. 

"Why,"  he  spluttered,  "that  horse  took 
Pop  over  the  White  Pass ! " 

"Ginger-pop.?"  asked  Annie  Eliza,  bright- 
ening. 

"  No,  Pop,  —  the  old  man !  An*  horses  was 
fellin'  dead  all  around,  but  Plato,  he  kept  right 
on,  till  he  got  over  that  White  Pass  ! " 

"  Where 's  the  White  Pass  ? " 

"Why,  up  in  the  Klondike  somewheres, 
where  Pop  made  his  fortune.  Plato  there  was 
Pop's  best  friend  all  through  that  trip,  an* 
showed  him  the  way  out  of  a  blizzard  once, 
an'  another  time  came  an'  found  him  when  he 
was  lost  I " 

"  Goodness  !  "  exclaimed  Annie  Eliza. 

"  An'  —  an'  Pop  says  he 's  just  like  a  brother 


THE  KING  IS  AGAIN  DISOWNED  47 

to  him,  even  though  he  ain't  very  showy- 
lookin*.  Gee-whittaker !  —  he  would  n't  sell 
Plato  for  all  Chamboro !  " 

"  Goodness  me  !  that 's  different,  is  n't  it?  " 
said  Annie  Eliza.  "He  docs  n't  really  look  so 
ver-r-ry  thin,  especially  when  you  see  him  from 
the  front  1 " 


HE  DOES  n't  really  LOOK  SO  VER-R>KY  THIN  ! 


And  so  they  talked  on  until,  from  a  near-by 
yellow  house  behind  the  lilac  hedge,  Annie 
Eliza's  mother  called  her  to  dinner.  That 
young  lady  took  her  departure  reluctantly, 
saying  that  she  would  be  back  again,  and  in- 
quiring if  Lonely  would  like  to  help  her  make 


48  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

tatting  or  come  with  her  and  the  dolls,  ume- 

time,  and  play  in  the  graveyard. 

Lonely  s  sudden  answer,  w'  ch  w  as  n  -'-  a 
polite  one,  somewhat  speeded  Annie  £liza  in 
her  de[xii  *'ire.  I  '.ven  after  she  had  disappeared, 
the  New  Boy  gazed  down  with  moody  anil 
far-away  eyes  at  the  baby,  and  wit'  out  even 
noting  the  fact,  saw  that  yf^u"g  dv  glee- 
fully anil  doggedly  consume  woolh  .  tir- 
pillar  and  several  handfuls  o  muQ  m  rhe 
remnants  of  a  flower-bed. 

Then  he  made  his  escape  to  the  bi^  of  "^he 
stable,  where  he  sot^ltt  ctmtohxxn  m  mudi 
chair-rattan  s»»oke,  and  thought  of  the  old 
Omansburg  gang,  and  from  time  to  time 
wished  that  be  were  dead. 

Much  eadiac  than  Lonely  lt«i  looke  for, 
however,  he  w«  destined  to  -  w^th  a  com- 
panion of  his  own  sex,  if  not  ai  ge  cr  of  his 
own  bent  ana  dispo»d<Mi.  end  was 

Lionel  Ciarei  ce  SamrVH.  n,  the  ler's  son, 

who  lived  >t  ha  a  block  aw-  from  the 
little  bake-S!  p. 

Gilead   v        he  but  unwelcome 

emissary  that  br<  it  the  unexpected 

meeting.  For  Gik  ing  in  an  unguarded 


PHE  Kimo  IS  A»  \IN  DISOWNED  49 


»^nent  i  lade  his  escape,  proceeded  leisitrdy 
o  the  iitde  Town  Park  lying  betweea  tke 
river  and  Wattcwon's  Creek.  TNre  he  de- 
-oured  all  of  the  municipal  f  ^-bed  and 
then  most  of  the  park  shrub.  was  en- 
joying the  bark  from  a  few  i.  ounger 
sha  -trees  when  discovered  by  oi  nkins, 
the  ardener,  who  drove  him  igti  Jiiuousiy 
forth  with  a  spade  and  much  bad  language. 

Wandering  fretfully  homeward,  Gilead  lin- 
gered a  momen*-  or  two  in  the  Sampsons' 
side  yard,  over  a  tempting  row  of  geraniums, 
set  out  but  a  week  before  by  the  Preacher'^ 
wife.  This  repast  eventually  led  him  to  the 
door  of  the  summer  kitchen,  where  sat  Mrs. 
Sampson  herself  and  a  Swedish  servant-girl, 
patiently  and  contentedly  stoning  a  huge 
crock  of  raisins,  for  her  next  Christmas  pud- 
ding, that  excellent  housekeeper  always  priding 
herself  on  the  fact  that  her  piddings  of  this 
nature  should  stand  and  npen  for  at  least  six 
months. 

Gilead,  with  a  i^t  aftd  confident  bound, 
leaped  inside  the  semmer  kitchen.  At  this 
unlooked-for  apparition  the  Swedish  girl  fled, 
screaming  lustily.   A  nM>n»nt  later  she  was 


50  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


followed,  quite  briskly,  by  the  more  portly 
Mrs.  Sampson. 

Once  behind  the  screen-door  of  the  inner 
kitchen,  the.  two  women  exhausted  every  ex- 
pedient to  shoo  or  drive  Gilead  away. 

Gilead,  indeed,  made  himself  quite  at  home, 
and  discovering  the  large  crock  of  carefully 
stoned  raisins,  slowly,  contentedly,  and  delib- 
erately made  away  with  them,  under  the  rueful 
eyes  of  Lionel,  his  mother,  and  the  Swedish 
housemaid. 

In  despair,  they  at  last  sent  in  word  to  the 
Reverend  James  Sampson,  busily  preparing 
his  sermon  in  the  quietness  of  his  study. 
That  gentleman,  noting  the  devastation  which 
had  been  wrought,  decided  to  take  no  half 
measures.  Securing  the  horse-whip  from  the 
driving-shed,  he  boldly  opened  the  screen- 
door  into  the  kitchen,  and,  hang  the  un- 
perturbed Gilead,  vigorously  and  heatedly 
chastised  the  intruder  on  his  hairy  Imck. 

It  was  not  until  an  accidental  stroke  caught 
Gilead  on  the  tender  tip  of  the  nose  that  the 
character  of  the  action  altered.  Then  the  in- 
truder turned  sharply,  and  followed  Lionel's 
father  through  the  screen-door  into  the  kitchen. 


52  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


then  up  the  back  stairs,  then  along  the  upper 
hall,  and  down  the  front  stairs,  back  through 
the  dining-room  and  the  kitchen  again,  and 
once  more  up  the  back  stairs.  How  long  this 
undignified  pursuit  might  have  lasted  it  would 
be  no  easy  matter  to  say,  for  agile  as  was  the 
Preacher,  Gilead  could  always  skip  up  the 
stairs  after  him  more  nimbly,  even  taking  time 
for  an  occasional  butt  or  two  as  he  went. 

Then,  in  an  inspired  moment,  Lena,  the 
Swedish  girl,  slammed  the  door  between  her 
master  and  his  pursuer.  And  there  was 
Gilead,  safe  and  sound,  a  priioner  in  the 
Preacher's  dining-room,  where,  recovering  his 
composure,  he  made  away  with  the  table-fern 
and  was  leisurely  nibbling  at  Mrs.  Sampson's 
window  plants,  when  Lionel  Clarence  was 
hurriedly  dispatched  for  the  new  O'Malley 
boy,  who,  it  was  claimed,  was  the  rightful 
owner  of  the  trespasser. 

Lonely  appeared,  solemn-eyed,  pensive- 
looking,  with  one  shoulder  hunched  up.  He 
led  Gilead  ingloriously  forth  by  means  of  the 
chin-whisker,  and  in  the  back  yard  belabored 
him  —  where  the  hair  was  long  and  thick  — 
until  even  the  Preacher  turned  away  and 


THE  KING  IS  A^IN  E^^WNED  53 

commiseratively  demanded  that  Lonely  lor- 
bear. 

Indeed,  Mrs.  &unpson  presented  thtnut^ed 
and  wondering  New  Boy  with  a  huge  s^  «if 
pound-cake  for  his  bravery,  and  hoped  that  he 
would  come  regularly  to  Sunday-school,  and 
always  be  kind  to  dumb  animals,  and  not  fight 
with  Lionel  Clarence,  as  did  the  other  boys. 
And  Lonely  gazed  at  Lionel  Clarence,  and  said 
he  guessed  there  wouldn't  be  any  fighting 
between  them  —  for  Lonely  had  his  tribal 
pride  as  to  whom  he  chose  for  his  enemies. 

Yet  it  was  out  of  this  untoward  incident  that 
sprang  the  immediate  if  incongruous  friendship 
between  Lonely  and  the  Preacher's  son.  That 
very  afternoon  they  met  in  secret,  and  being 
joined  later  by  Annie  Eliza  and  her  dolls,  they 
performed  a  long  and  elaborate  funeral  service 
over  the  Gubtills' d^  canary.  Then,  touched 
with  a  common  infection  of  grief,  Lonely 
assisted  in  the  disinterring  of  the  remains,  and 
was  meekly  luxuriating  in  the  sorrow  conse- 
quent upon  a  second  and  even  more  mi^ificent 
burial  service,  when  Chamboro's  young  band  of 
adventurers,  drifting  somewhat  disconsolately 
and  wearily  homeward  from  their  truant  day 


54  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


on  the  river,  lined  quietly  up  at  the  fence,  and 
took  in  the  mourning  group  with  the  silence 
of  unspeakable  contempt. 

Lonely,  looking  up  and  finding  himself  dis- 
covered in  the  midst  of  an  eloquent  funereal 
prayer,  flushed  hot  and  cold  with  a  sudden 
inward  rage  —  a  rage  more  at  himself  than  at 
his  scofl'ing  enemies. 

"  Makin*  mud-pies  ?  "  mildly  asked  Redney 
Mc Williams.  There  was  something  madden- 
ing in  the  soft  and  oily  insolence  of  such  a 
question.  Lonely  got  up  from  his  funeral 
hands-and-knees  position. 

"Why,  he  ain't  got  curls  like  the  other 
two! "  said  one  of  the  tormentors,  in  mock 
wonder. 

Lonely  walked  slowly  toward  the  fence,  his 
face  white,  his  jaws  set,  bristling  like  an  angry 
terrier. 

"  I  can  lick  you,  you  saphead ! "  he  cried 
shrilly,  as  he  shook  his  fist  in  the  face  of  Pig- 
gie  Brennan,  the  heaviest  of  the  leering  band. 
"I  can  lick  you,  d'  you  hear!  I  can  lick  any 
blamed  one  o'  you." 

A  chorus  of  youthful  laughter  went  up  at 
this  ineffectual  and  frenzied  sally. 


THE  KING  IS  AGAIN  DISOWNED  55 

"  Who 's  fightin'  with  females  ?  "  inquired 
Pud  Jones. 

Then  some  one  tossed  a  dead  sunfish  neatly 
against  the  starched  white  blouse  of  the  Preach- 
er's son. 

Piggie  Brennan,  finding  a  loose  picket  on 
the  fence,  wrenched  it  off,  and  deftly  and 
contemptuously  flung  it  for  Loncly's  shins. 
Lonely  jumped  and  missed  the  blow.  The 
laughing  band  fell  back,  and  went  listlessly  and 
carelessly  on  its  way.  He  was  not  even  worth 
fighting  with  ! 

"  Don't  you  come  around  me  again  until 
you  get  that  hair  o*  yours  cut  off!  I)'  you 
hear  me?"  Lonely  suddenly  blazed  out  at 
the  startled  and  altogether  innocent  Preacher's 
son,  in  an  inconsequential  rage  that  was  as 
unlooked  for  as  it  was  passionate.  And  he 
contemptuously  kicked  over  tombstone,  burial 
casket,  and  canary  hearse,  and  strode  away. 


The  River  of  Youth 


From  all  the  golden  hills  of  dream. 
Dew-cool  and  rainbow  kissed. 

It  twines  and  glides,  a  silver  stream. 
Through  valleys  hung  with  mist, 

Dtwn  past  Enchanted  Woods  to  where 

Romance  walks  ever  young. 
Where  Kings  ride  forth  to  take  the  air 

Oh  steeds  with  velvet  hung, — 

Where  secret  stairways  tempt  the  bold. 
Where  Pir,.     Caves  abound. 

And  many  a  chest  of  Spanish  gold 
May  solemnly  be  found  I 

Through  magic  years  it  twines  and  creeps 
Past  Tozvers  of  peacock  blue. 

Where  still  some  ancient  Princess  sleeps. 
And  dreams  come  always  true  ! 

Then  gleam  by  gleam  the  light  goes  out. 
Then  darkened,  grief  by  grief. 

It  sighs  into  our  Sea  of  Doubt, 
And  Manhood's  Unbelief! 


CHAPTER  III 


/«  which  false  Gods  an  pursued 

YOUNG  man,  why  ain't  you  a-gittin'  some 
schoolin'?" 

The  angular  woman  in  the  black  bead  bon- 
net shifted  her  basket  of  lish  from  her  right 
arm  to  her  left,  and  gazed  at  Lonely  with  un- 
relaxing  severity.  Lonely,  in  turn,  hunched  up 
a  shoulder  and  continued  to  study  the  feats  of 
the  bareback  riders  in  the  new  circus  poster, 
whereon  the  f)aste  had  not  yet  had  time  to  dry, 

"Why  ain't  you  gittin*  some  schoolin'?" 
repeated  the  woman  with  the  glinting  and 
dangling  black  beads. 

"  Don't  need  none,  I  guess  ! "  said  Lonely. 

He  worked  his  double-jointed  fingers  ener- 
getically :  this  often  had  the  eflPect  of  driving 
women  folks  away. 

"Don't  need  Would  you  listen  to 

that  grammar !  Don't  need  any  schoolin',  and 
a-murder;n'  good  langu^e  that  way  ! " 

"  Schoolin'  ain't  everything !  "  maintained 
the  boy,  stoutly.  Yet  he  had  his  sneaking 


6o  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 


Kven  at  that  moinent  he  was  longing  and 
aching  to  be  able  to  cipher  out  to  the  uttermost 
the  descriptive  superlatives  which  bordered  so 
mysteriously  the  circus  bill  before  him.  But 
the  big  words  stuck  him,  every  time. 


KALSK  (lODS  ARK  PURSl'KI)  6i 

"  No,  it  ain't  crytfiing,  Mister  O'Mallcy, 
Hut  what  do  you  ever  expect  to  amount  to, 
without  bcin'  al>le  to"  talk  decent?" 

"I  don't  see's  talk 'II  ever  build  a  flyin'- 
machine !  "  cried  the  boy,  in  a  sudden  little 
rage.  "  And  1  'm  a-goin'  to  school,  anyway, 
's  soon  as  summer  holidays  is  over ! " 

"  Be  you !"  mocked  the  pleader  for  higher 
education,  wondering  what  flying-machines 
had  to  do  with  the  question.  The  boy  paused 
to  pull  Alaska  Alice  away  from  the  bill-board, 
where  she  was  contentedly  making  her  dinner 
on  a  little  pool  of  scattered  paste. 

"And  when  1  get  into  that  school,"  went 
on  Lonely,  as  he  faced  the  black  beads  again, 
and  suddenly  burned  with  the  foolish  passion 
of  the  conqueror  for  conquest,  "  when  I  do  get 
in  that  school,  I  '11  show  'em  a  thing  or  two 
about  book-learnin' !  "  And  as  the  vaunting 
heat  of  his  vain  little  fire  left  him,  he  added  : 
"  And  maybe  something  about  mindin*  my 
own  business,  too  !  " 

"And  mebbe  something  about  mindin' 
your  manners,  too ! "  snapped  the  angular  wo- 
man with  the  basket,  as  she  and  her  beaded  bon- 
net went  tartly  on  their  way,  leaving  Lonely, 


62  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

who  hud  been  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  the 
imagination  dreaming  of  circus  sounds  and 
sights  and  smells  and  memories,  vaguely  yet 
sharply  discomforted  for  the  rest  of  the  morn- 
ing. 

"  I 'm  sick  o'  this  town,"  he  said,  moodily. 
"  I 'm  goin'  to  be  a  trapper,  and  hunt  Indians! " 

But  being  joined  by  Lionel  Clarence  later 
in  the  day,  they  fell  to  studying  the  circus 

posters  once  more,  while  Lonely  considerately 
explained  to  the  Preacher's  son  how  the  other- 
wise inexplicable  suppleness  of  the  real  circus 
acrobat  was  due,  of  course,  to  the  fact  that  in 
early  infancy  he  had  his  backbone  cut  out. 
And  still  later,  in  the  stable-loft,  they  delighted 
Annie  Kliza  and  three  of  her  little  girl  friends 
with  a  terrific  sword  combat,  in  which  Lonely, 
arrayed  in  swimming-trunks,  magnificently  bled 
to  death  —  by  means  of  a  cow's  bladder  filled 
with  raspberry  vinegar,  purloined  from  the 
unsuspecting  Mrs.  Sampson's  cellar. 

Indeed,  as  Lonely  more  and  more  realized 
that  he  was  foredoomed  to  the  companionship 
of  Lionel  Clarence,  he  took  the  Preacher's  son 
more  and  more  in  hand,  doing  his  best  to 
make  a  man  of  him. 


falsi;  (iODS  ARK  PURSUED  O3 

With  much  secrc-t  exercise  on  a  haymow 
trapeze,  much  surreptitious  sucking  of  eugs, 
much  pn'-'-hing  and  thunijiing  of  his  teiule 
and  atte  u  .  "  young  body,  and  many  copious 
applicatic:  iintt  marvel  of  boyhoo  i  'uhri- 
cations,  -ugle-Worm  Oil, —  ma  .i'  ,.  ired 
from  a  bottle  of  those  fish-worn  is  kr  e-  wn  as 
"night-crawlers,"  carefully  corkea  up  in  water 
and  hung  in  the  sun  until  the  resulting  com- 
pound, reputed  to  make  the  body  limber,  is 
certainly  odoriferous  enough  to  make  the  stom- 
ach unsettle  —  with  all  these  cogent  agencies, 
I  repeat.  Lonely  worked  over  Lionel  Clarence, 
and  wrought  wonders  in  the  once  despised  and 
anaemic  Preacher's  son. 

He  taught  him  how  to  do  the  cart-wheel, 
he  tauRiit  him  his  Neeley  upper-cut  and  his 
Cowansburg  "  trip,"  he  schooled  him  in  the 
science  of  wrestling,  and  in  the  arts  of  frog- 
spearing,  initiated  him  into  the  mysteries  and 
delights  of  the  mullein  leaf,  the  dried  grape- 
vine, and  the  throat-scalding  Indian  tobacco- 
plant.  One  memorable  day  he  took  him  in 
secret  to  the  upper  river  swimming  hole,  and 
although  the  water  was  still  disagreeably  chilly, 
he  sternly  held  the  Preacher's  son's  clothing 


64  LONELY  O  MALLEY 

in  bond  until  that  blue-skinncd  and  shivering 
youth  timidly  essayed  "  dog-fashion,"  splut- 
tering, moaning,  shrieking,  making  weird 
faces,  rolling  his  eyes,  forlornly  calling  for  his 
mother,  and  finally  skimming  naked  up  the 
bank  and  across  two  hay-fields,  once  the  dis- 
gusted Lonely  had  released  him. 

His  instructor  tried  to  lure  him  back  again 
by  airily  doing  "  the  over-stroke,"  by  showing 
him  how  luxurious  it  was  to  float,  by  tread- 
ing water,  by  triumphantly  "  bringing  up 
bottom"  out  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  and 
even  diving  backwards  off  the  sycamore  roots. 
Lionel  began  to  cry  with  the  cold,  however, 
and  at  last  Lonely  relented.    But  only  for 
that  afternoon.    For  sternly  and  rigorously 
the  lessons  were  repeated,  until  the  Preach- 
er's son  proudly  eschewed  "  dog-feshion  "  and 
caught  the  knack  of  the  more  honored  "frog- 
motion,"  and  even  attempted  a  timid  dive 
or  two. 

From  that  day  on,  Mrs.  Sampson,  without 

knowing  it,  was  the  mother  of  tw(^  sons  :  one, 
Lionel  Clarence  Sampson,  sickly,  frail,  timor- 
ous, forever  having  headaches,  and  forever  get- 
ting pains  in  the  stomach  just  before  school- 


FAF.se  gods  are  pursued  65 

tiiiK-;  the  other,  "Shag"  Sampson  (so  calletl 
by  Lonely  hecaiise  of  his  ample  mane  of  yel- 
lowish-brown hair),  short-windetlly  combative, 
but  both  audacious  and  predaceous. 

In  return  for  these  favors  Lonely  demanded 
periodic  tutorship  in  the  elements  of  English 
grammar,  and  with  crampcd-up  fingers  and 
strangely  contorted  face  filled  out  Lionel's 
unused  copy-books,  and,  on  the  Samps  ons 
driving-shed  roof  pored  over  some  many- 
thumbed  "  Rollo  Dialogues,"  and,  at  last, 
flung  the  book  into  the  rhubarb- bed,  with 
the  contemptuous  verdict  that  Rollo  was 
a  "  stirtV  and  that  he  was  sick  and  tired  of 
pottering  round  with  fool  hooks,  anvway  ! 

Whereupon  the  two  restless  spirits,  full  of 
their  vernal  disquiet,  caught  the  Harrisons'  cat 
and  painted  it  a  delicate  pink  with  thu  rem- 
nants of  the  bottle  of  raspberry  vinegar,  left 
over  from  the  sword  combat.  Then,  pitkiixr 
on  a  suitably  out-of-the-way  ami  secret  vpot, 
Lonely  and  Lionel  Clarence  worked  long  and 
mysteriously  at  the  river-bank  with  an  old 
spade,  well  shadowed  from  the  public  view  by 
a  clump  of  dwarf-willow  and  wild  grapevine. 
The  result  was  a  cave,  with  a  smoke-vent 


66  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

through  an  old  stovepipe  above,  the  roof  well 
shored  up  with  purloined  fence-boards,  the 
entrance  necessarily  commanding  a  secret  view 
of  the  river.  In  this  cave  Lionel  Clarence  took 
much  delight,  and  countless  colds  in  the 
head. 

Even  Annie  Eliza  was  not  made  acquainted 
with  the  SKret  passage  leading  to  this  lonely 
refuge,  meekly  and  faithfully  as  she  followed 
Lionel  and  the  New  Boy  in  all  less  mysterious 
adventures.  Although  Annie  Eliza  had  even 
sniffed  knowingly  at  their  clothes,  and  recog- 
nized the  telltale  odor  of  Indian  tobacco,  she 
had  remained  discreetly  silent  and  loval. 
Lonely  would  have  tabooed  her  heartlessly 
bat  for  her  new-born  devotion  to  Alaska  Alice, 
wh^i  she  minted  Mid  wheeled  and  carried 
about  croonin^y,  thus  giving  Lonely  an  un- 
look^  ^ar  chance  for  wandering  and  adven- 
ture, in  whieb,  when  possible,  the  Preacher's 
ma  joined  him. 

All  might  have  gone  well  but  for  the  fact 
tfart  one  warm  afternoon  Mrs.  Sampson  went 
to  the  back  hall  window,  to  open  the  sash, 
while  she  finished  her  upstairs  sweeping.  Her 
startled  glance  happened  to  fall  on  the  sun- 


FALSE  GODS  ARK  PURSUED  67 

bathed  shingles  of  the  driving-shed,  and  there, 
lying  luxuriously  out  in  the  warm  sunshine, 
with  their  legs  crossed  and  expressions  of 


OUT  IN  THE  WARM  SUNSHINE 


ineff)l'>!c  content  on  their  vouiig  faces,  were 
Lonely  O'Malky  and  her  son  Lionel  Clar- 
ence, 'fhe  good  woman  leant  [  on  the  handle 
of  her  carpet  sweeper  and  gasped.  For  in 
the  hand  of  each  of  the  hovs  before  her  was 
a  stout  piece  of  dried  grapevine,  and  from  time 
to  time,  as  each  lay  there,  he  drew  in  long 
inhalations  of  pungent  smoke,  and  emitted  it 
from  between  his  pursed-u}i  lips  with  slow  ami 
placid  hrcaths. 


68  LONELY  CyMALLEY 

Mrs.  Sampsot)  kmed  over  the  front  banister 
and  gently  ciriied  h»  husband  from  the  study. 
The  Preacher  ioWamed  the  direction  of  her 
indignant  index  finger,  adjusted  his  glasses, 
looked  again,  and  yef  again,  gasped  a  little, 
and  was  scarcely  able  to  believe  his  eyes. 

'I  he  Preacher's  son  was  just  on  the  point  of 
taking  a  fresh  light,  and  Lonely  was  carelessly 
Hccking  the  ash  from  the  end  of  his  weed, 
with  a  twitch  of  the  little  finger  known  only  to 
the  connoisseur. 

"  Lionel  Clarence  Sampson!  "  cried  a  sud- 
den stentorian  voice,  out  of  the  smoke-hung 
stillness. 

At  the  first  familiar  cadence  of  that  deep 
chest-tone,  Lonely  lifted  his  heel  from  the 
nail  which  Md  hmt  on  the  sloping  shingles, 
and  with  gi^  neatness  and  dispatch  disap- 
peared in  one  quick  slide  down  the  east  side 
of  the  shed.  From  there  he  made  his  prompt 
escape  ^der  a  broken  base -board  on  the 
back  fence,  and  from  the  secure  position  of 
the  Allison's  chicken-coop  roof  waited  pro- 
ceedings. 

Lionel,  at  the  sound  of  that  voice,  dropped 
his  telltale  burning  brand,  as  though  stung 


FALSE  GODS  ARE  PUMUEl^  60 

by  a  sudden  electric  shock.  Then,  wirliour 
moving  from  the  spot  where  he  lay,  he  began 
to  weep,  audibly  and  convulsively. 

"Come  down  from  that  roof,  Lioad 
Clarence!"  said  1m  ^ther,  with  significHt 
solemnity,  as  he  strode  vfadifully  am  into 
the  back  yard.  Lionel  Clarenec,  wailing  motr 
eloquently  than  ever,  ^amif  and  relu^mtly 
made  his  descent. 

"  A  son  of  mine,  indulf^  in  dif  perniao«« 
and  loathsome  practice  (jf  smoking,  ofioit^i^ 
with  evil  companions ! "  A  moment  after 
saying  this  a  mysferious  cali>>afe-root  landed 
with  a  resounding  whack  against  the  driving- 
shed  wall.  The  Preacher  looked  (]uickly  about, 
but  no  one  was  in  sight.  Then  he  reached 
forth  and  grasped  his  son  and  heir,  firmly  and 
significamly. 

"  Rei»«i^«r,  J»nes,  he  is  your  son  !  "  cried 
the  half-relc«^i^  mother  from  the  upper  hall 
window,  as  she  siw  the  two  diii^pear  into  the 
secrecy  of  the  driyiiig-shed.  A  moment  later 
vigorous  and  prolanfed  cries  came  forth  into 
tfce  still  afternoon  sm.  Lonely  listened,  with 
one  shoulder  hunched  up,  his  eye  glued  to 
the  back  fi»ce. 


70  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

When  the  Preacher  emerged,  flushed  and 
heated,  he  once  more  looked  carefully  about 
But  no  one  was  to  be  seen. 

"  Now,  I  shall  go  to  young  Master  O'Mal- 
ley's  parents,  at  once,  and  advise  them  of 
this  depravity,  this  vicious  and  degrading 
habit !  " 

"  You  do  an'  I  '11  sick  my  goat  onto  you  !  " 
said  a  challenging  voice,  from  the  rear  of  the 
back  fence. 

"  What  —  what 's  this  ?  "  demanded  the 
Preacher.  "  Where  are  you,  sir?  " 

"I'm  right  here!  An'  1  say  if  you  go 
tattlin*  round  about  me  1  'II  sick  Gilead  onto 
you  until  you  wish  you  had  wings ! " 

And  Lonely  turned  wearily  homeward,  tired 
of  the  dispiriting  drama.  This  was  what  he 
got,  he  told  himself,  for  playing  with  preachers' 
sons,  and  mixing  up  with  people  who  wear 
velvet  and  ruffles ! 

Forthwith,  from  that  day  of  wrath,  how- 
ever, Lionel  Clarence  was  rigidly  and  sternly 
enjoined  from  companionship  with  Lonely 
O'Malley.  So  the  New  Boy  was  thrown  on 
his  own  devices.  He  even  once  more  took  up 
with  Annie  Eli/a,  and  in  his  desolation  of 


FALSE  GODS  ARE  FURSUKD  71 
spirit  mended  her  dolls  for  her,  and  made 
rope  hair  for  their  too  rigorously  sterilized 
heads,  and  helped  her  play  at  housekeeping, 
and  assisted  in  the  moulding  of  mud-pies,  and 
sat  and  patiently  looked  on  at  many  unsuc- 
cessful sewing  efforts.  He  even  forgave  her 
passionate  and  ghoulish  love  for  the  grave- 
yard, and  retired  there  to  eat  green  apples  and 
salt  with  her,  and  gathered  May-flowers  for 
her,  and  carved  her  initials  on  the  old  beech- 
tree  in  the  cow-pasture. 

Not  that  Lonely's  heart  had  either  failed  or 
betrayed  him,  or  that  he  was  deep  in  love  with 
Annie  Eliza.   His  passion  had  long  since  been 
ideally  consecrated  to  a  certain  Little  Kva, 
who  had  appearetl  two  years  before  in  The 
Holden  Combination   lincle  Tom's  Cabin 
Company,  and  sold  her  photographs  between 
the  acts  —  a  bt.>autiful,  golden-haired,  a/ure- 
eyed  creature,  half  angel  and  hal  'girl,  \\hosc- 
dress  he  had  touched  as  she  |\.s^,,i  down  the 
crowded  aisle,  whom  he  had  never  so  !?n  eh  as 
spoken  to,  and  yet  of  whom  he  still  brooded 
and  dreamed.  It  is  tme  Annie  Eliza  had  her 
charm.    She  lisped  just  a  little,  and  what, 
thought  Lonely  at  times,  could  be  prettier 


72  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

than  a  lisp.  She  also  toed-in  a  trifle  when 
she  walked,  and  it  had  never  occurred  to 
Lonely  that  toeing-in  could  be  done  so  fasci- 
natingly. And  then  she  was  so  dog-faithful, 
and  never  tattled !  She  at  least  filled  in  the 
time,  he  magnanimously  decided. 

He  did  not,  however,  give  over  all  his  days 
and  thoughts  to  the  softer  sex,  during  this 
interregnum  of  idleness.  A  good  deal  of  the 
time  he  worked  secretly  on  his  flyii^-ma^Me, 
up  in  the  stable  hay-iuft,  smd  maay  days  he 
went  off  on  lonely  excursions,  towards  the 
upper  river,  out  past  ^he  Commons,  past 
Blue  Hollow  and  the  brick-yards,  where, 
beyond  the  bald  hills  and  clay  slopes,  dwelt 
a  barbarian  and  outlandish  people,  ?nd  where, 
when  a  stranger  appeared,  he  was  apt  to  If' 
heetsd  at  and  stoned.  Tbe)     ere  a  watchful 
and  a  wariilK  lot,  these  far-off  barbariaiis,  and 
(m  more  than  ^e  occasion  they  did  their  best 
to  cm  oM  Look's  ictrtpr^  Hunting  in  packs 
like  wrives,  mysterisiisly  appearing  and  dis- 
appearing, yet  nev'r  quite  able  ro  corner  the 
alert  young  in'-uder  with  the  sHng-shot  smd 
dm  freckled  nose.   For  they  had  caves  and 
fires  and  dug-outs,  \  hese  oudrnders,  and  tl»y 


FALSE  GODS  ARE  PURSUED  73 

obeyed  no  law  but  their  own.  it  was  darkly 
rumored,  even,  that  there  was  blood  on  their 
hands,  —  the  blood  of  an  old  gray  farm-horsc, 
abandoned  to  the  road  and  corralled  and  cap- 
tured  in  a  time  of  famine,  when  portions  of 
the  prize,  cooked  over  a  cave  fire,  had  been 
stoically  and  persevering! y  chewed  on  by  cer- 
tain members  of  the  ruthless  band. 

Yet,  as  the  bake-shop  window  became  re- 
filled with  chocolate  mice  in  little  cardboard 
boxes,  and  balls  of  pop-corn,  and  all-day 
suckers, and  appetizing-looking  bulls-eyes,  and 
candies  of  various  colors  and  kinds,  Annie 
Eliza's  devotion  to  Lonely  became  more  and 
more  demonstrative  and  more  and  more  com- 
pelling.   He  even  allowed  himself  to  sur- 
render to  that  soft  invasion,  forgetting  the 
love  he  had  consecrated  to  the  mythical  Little 
Kva  of  other  days,  forsaking  his  bluff  man- 
hood, and  allowing  certain  new  and  quite 
pleasurable  sensations  to  awaken  in  his  languid 
breasr.   Roving  and  predatory  bands  of  town 
boys  passed  up  and  down  the  streets  before 
him,  now  almost  unheeded.   I  i  far-off  fields 
wid  lanes  and  alleys  great  deeds  were  being 
done,  and  strange  adventures  essayed;  but 


74 


LONKLY  O'M ALLEY 


he,  he  told  himself,  cared  nothing  for  them. 
A  soft  rose-tint  of  unreality  clothed  all  his 
world.    He  grew  moody  and  morose.  He 
even  fried  to  put  his  feelings  into  song,  on 
several  occasions.    One  of  these  he  actually 
indited,  in  his  own  blood,  and  left  under  the 
sidewalk  crossing  for  Annie  Eliza.  He  washed 
his  fece  without  being  nagged  to  do  so,  behind 
the  ears  and  all.   He  likewise  purchased  a 
fifteen-cent  bottle  of  perfume,  and  in  the  morn- 
ings smugly  wet  and  plastered  down  his  thick 
mat  of  russet  hair,  and  on  one  occasion  tallowed 
it  copiously,  only  disgustedly  to  wash  it  off 
with  coal-oil  on  being  asked  by  his  father  if 
he  had  been  swimming  near  the  slaughter- 
house again.   He  even  gtew  sensitive  as  to 
deportment  and  apparel,  and  always  took  off 
his  hat  in  the  house,  and  passed  t'linfr^  at 
table,  and  attempted  many  striking  eliorts 
toward  personal  adornment,  from  a  hold-back 
strap  off  the  harness  for  a  belt,  to  a  discarded 
necktie  of  his  fr.ther's,  —  to  say  nothing  of  a 
huge  glass  buckle-head  purloined  from  Plato's 
bridle,  and  now  riveted  jauntily  on  the  lapel 
of  his  coat. 

Even  the  impending  advent  of  the  circus 


FALSE  GODS  ARE  PURSUED  75 

scarcely  shook  the  tranquil  and  enfeebled 
spirit  of  Lonely  out  of  its  Dorian  sloth  and 

content.  He  still  read  the  bills  dreamily,  but 
found  the  old  thrill  to  be  wanting.  When  one 
particularly  resplendent  pageant  appeared  on 
the  street  side  of  the  Harrisons*  barn,  how- 
ever, it  moved  him  to  suggest  pensively  to 
Annie  Kliza  that  they  get  up  a  circus  of  their 
own. 

This  performance  was  given  in  the  big  box- 
stell  of  the  O'Malley  stable,  neativ  draped 
with  quilts,  and  the  admission  was  ten  pins. 
The  procession  was  an  imposing  one,  with 
Gilead  leading,  the  GubtUls*  tom-cat  coming 
next,  then  a  squirrel-cage  containing  two  red 
squirrels,  a  canary  in  a  bird-cage,  two  dogs,  and 
a  very  indignant  setting-hcn,  on  a  wheelbarrow. 

Although  Lonely,  adorned  for  the  occasion 
in  a  suspiciously  feminine-looking  woven  shirt, 
turkey-red  trunks  made  by  Annie  Kliza  and 
himself,  and  a  pair  of  long  black  stockings 
secretly  borrowed  from  his  mother's  bedroom 
bureau-drawer,  executed  marvelous  feats  on 
the  trapeze,  did  the  muscle-grind,  skinned  the 
cat,  made  the  bird's  nest,  turned  back  hand- 
springs, stood  on  his  head,  walked  on  his 


MICROCOPY  RBOUmON  TKT  CNAIT 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


76  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

hands,  and  essayed  a  flip-flop  which  did  not 
quite  materialize,  —  although  our  bright  star, 
I  repeat,  indulged  in  marvels  of  strength  and 
resorted  to  great  feats  of  agility,  his  glory  was 
dimmed  by  the  sad  consciousness  that  his  awe- 
struck and  admiring  audience  was  made  up  of 
only  eleven  small  girls,  three  babies  in  arms, 
and  five  diminutive  males,  all  so  young  that 
they  still  wore  frocks  and  dresses. 

What  counted  the  sighs  and  shouts  of  de- 
light from  such  an  audience ;  where,  indeed, 
it  was  so  easy  to  impress,  and  so  worthless  to 
be  a  wonder ! 

The  last  act  of  the  performance  was  to  have 
been  an  aerial  dive  from  the  top  of  the  stall 
partition  to  a  pile  of  timothy  hay.  But  Lonely, 
in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  decided  to 
give  his  admiring  and  open-mouthed  audience 
a  few  gratuitous  exhibitions  of  strength.  His 
first  test  of  muscular  prowess  was  an  attempt 
to  dislodge  a  suspicious-looking  pine  upright, 
which  supported  the  wavering  old  hay-loft 
flooring.  This  inspired  feat  of  our  modem 
young  Samson  was  eminently  successful,  for 
with  it  he  brought  down  both  the  house  and 
the  roof,  and  at  the  same  time  forced  the  day's 


78  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

performance  to  come  to  a  confused  and  igno> 

minious  end. 

When  the  last  child  had  emerged  from  the 
hay  and  dust,  and  the  tumult  had  subsided, 
the  entire  audience  repaired  sorrowfully  to 
the  bake-shop  window,  where  they  drew  up  in 
a  hungry  circle  and  lingered  wistfully,  to  feast 
in  spirit  on  the  array  of  good  things  within. 
For  with  the  arrival  and  display  of  a  wonder- 
ful new  stock  of  licorice-sticks,  pepper-drops, 
butter-scotch,  and  caramels,  this  window  had 
become  the  centre  of  attraction  for  ail  the 
neighborhood.  Little  girls  licked  the  iron 
^•uard-rail  in  silent  and  pensive  ecstasy.  Babies 
were  held  up  to  flatten  their  little  noses  against 
the  pane,  to  drum  and  paw  ineffectually  at  the 
highly  colored  confections  within.  Small  boys 
tarried  to  smack  their  lips  over  the  box  of 
chocolate  mice.  And  as  half  a  dozen  times  a 
day  Lonely  sauntered  airily  in  and  out  of  the 
magic  door  behind  which  lay  all  this  wealth, 
it  is  no  wonder  that  sly  advances  were  made 
to  him,  and  that  Bettie  Doyle  gave  him  her 
agate  alley,  and  that  Lulu  Barrison  extended 
to  him  a  generous  and  significant  invitation  to 
come  and  witness  the  poisoning  of  their  cat 


FALSE  GODS  ARE  PURSUED  79 

Even  Annie  Eliza  herself  was  not  altogether 
disinterested  in  her  attachment,  and,  with, 
perhaps,  quite  unconscious  venality,  admired 
Lonely's  muscles  in  public,  and  ran  errands 
for  him,  and  herded  Gilead  and  Plato  when 
necessary,  and  showed  to  the  envious  denizens 
of  the  street  that  she  was  the  lady  of  Lonely's 
favor. 

All  of  these  flattering  advances  the  idle 
Cassar  received  with  a  reserve  that  was  both 
dignified  and  non-committal. 

He  was  even  artfully  questioned,  at  last, 
as  to  the  quantity  of  candy  and  maple-sugar 
allowed  to  him  day  by  day.  Whereat  he 
laughed  scoffingly,  and  curled  his  lips  with 
contempt. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  'bout  candy  an*  maple- 
sugar  ! "  he  commanded. 

"  Why  ?  "  demanded  Annie  Eliza,  plaint- 
ively. 

"  'Cause  I 'm  sick  an'  tired  o'  candy  !  " 

A  look  of  mingled  incredulity  and  longing 
was  directed  toward  the  window  by  his  circle 
of  listeners.  Never  in  all  time  had  such  a  thing 
been  heard  of  before. 

"  Do  you  mean  you  can  eat  maple-sugar. 


8o  I  ONELY  O'MALLEY 

an*  car'mels,  an'  th  ngs,  just  whenever  you 
like  ?  "  asked  Betty  Doyle. 

"  'Course  1  can  !  "  said  Lonely,  import- 
antly. 

A  little  chorus  of  wondering  "  Ohs  !  "  went 
up  from  the  astonished  circle. 

"  Why,"  proceeded  Lonely,  seeing  red,  and 
once  more  proceeding  to  murder  Truth, — 
"  why,  all  I  got  to  do  is  to  take  a  box  and 
sit  down  an*  eat  w'at  I  want.  But  choc'late 
mice  are  w'at  take  me!  They  *re  great,  are  n't 
they  ?  So  soft  an'  mushy  inside,  an'  then  the 
taste  of  the  choc'late  kind  o'  mixed  in  with 
it !  "  He  felt  in  his  pocket  with  a  sudden  re- 
membering hand.  "  Gee  !  I  had  six  or  seven 
in  here  a  few  minutes  ago  !  Must  have  forgot 
an'  eaten  'em  up,  I  guess  !  " 

He  paced  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
bake-shop  with  a  swelling  sense  of  his  own 
importance,  puffing  up  like  a  pouter  pigeon. 

"Who 'd  'a'  thunk  it !"  said  the  impressed 
but  illiterate  Jennie  Biffins,  wiping  her  mouth 
with  her  dress-sleeve. 

"  I  guess  I  '11  have  a  car'mel  or  two  now  I " 
said  Lonely,  casually.  He  opened  the  little 
bell-hung  door  and  disappeared.  A  minute 


82 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


later  he  reappeared  before  the  circle,  swallow^ 
ing  hard  and  licking  his  lips. 

"  Ain't  so  good  as  the  last  lot !  "  he  said, 
critically.  The  circle  of  wide-eyed  listeners 
nudged  one  another  knowingly,  and  shook 
their  heads  in  solemn  wonder.  To  Lonely 
there  was  something  almost  intoxicating  in  the 
sunlight  of  this  open  admiration.  The  poten- 
tial glories  of  his  inheritance  had  never  before 
dawned  upon  him.  The  circle  was  waiting  for 
further  information. 

"  Why,"  the  New  Boy  went  on,  off-hand, 
"  Pop  comes  up  out  o'  the  bake-oven  an'  says 
to  me,  kind  o'  cross,  too,  •  Lonely,  why  ain't 
you  eaten  that  maple-sugar  up,  so  as  your  maw 
can  wash  the  pans  out !  * " 

A  sigh  went  up  from  the  circle. 

"*You  finish  up  them  choc'late  mice,'  he 
says,  *  before  you  go  out  an'  play  this  morn- 
ing ! '  An'  of  course  I 've  got  to  eat  'em,  — 
got  to,  whether  I  want  to  or  not.  He  gits 
purty  mad  if  he  sees  me  tryin'  to  sneak  out 
without  doin'  what  he  says." 

This  time  his  auditors  gasped,  openly. 

"But,  Lonely,"  interposed  Annie  Eliza, 
quite  impersonally  and  innocently, "  don't  you 


FALSE  GODS  ARE  PURSUED  83 

ever  feel  like  gettin'  somebody  to  help 
you  ? " 

"  How  d'  you  mean  ? " 

"  Why,  when  he 's  mad  about  you  not 

doing  them  kind  o'  things  fast  enough  !  " 

"Nope,"  said  Lonely.  "Pop  don't  like 
folks  round  the  shop  !  " 

"  Then  when  yer  goin'  to  bring  us  out 
some  ?  "  piped  up  a  very  young  and  indiscreet 
little  boy  in  a  checked  petticoat. 

Lonely  looked  at  him  scornfully,  hunched 
up  his  shoulder,  and  turned  away  to  the  win- 
dow. 

At  last,  driven  beyond  endurance,  Annie 
Eliza  herself  repeated  that  audacious  question. 

«  Why,  any  old  time,  I  guess,"  answered 
the  baker's  son,  carelessly.  "  An*  some  choc*- 

late  mice,  too,  eh  ?  "  he  added,  making  an  in- 
describable clucking  noise  with  his  tongue, 
against  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  as  he  wagged 
his  head  and  pointed  out  the  pasteboard  box 
filled  with  rodent  delicacies,  to  the  end  of  each 
one  of  which  was  attached  an  elastic  tail,  mak- 
ing them  all  the  more  wonderful  and  felike. 

A  dozen  mouths  watered  at  the  thought, 
involuntarily.   They  crowded  round  him,  and 


84 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


eyed  him  reverentially,  and  brought  him  little 
gifts  and  remembrances,  and  emulating  Annie 
Kliza,  audibly  enlarged  on  the  size  and  strength 
of  his  muscles,  and  the  wonder  of  his  circus 
tricks,  and  even  allowed  that  l*lato  w  s  the 
handsomest  horse  in  Chamborr>,  and  conceded 
Gilead  to  be  the  gentlest  and  most  innocent 
animal  that  ever  browsed  on  a  flower-bed. 

And  as  for  Lonely,  he  became  quite  drunk 
with  the  dizzy  consciousness  of  his  power,  and 
although  deep  down  in  his  heart  he  knew  it 
was  an  illicit  and  perverted  sense  of  mastery, 
an  unworthy  field  of  conquest,  he  made  it  suf- 
fice him,  for  the  time  being.  He  passed  back 
and  forth  among  them  with  a  sort  of  lordly 
5  Jependence,  making  no  return  for  the  hun- 
gry and  melting  eyes  which  tiny  girls  made 
after  him,  and  offering  no  reward  for  the  pa- 
tience with  which  the  smaller  children  waited 
for  him  to  come  out  and  play,  and  the  celerity 
with  which  they  gathered  chips  for  him,  and 
cleaned  out  the  stable,  and  even  delivered  an 
occasional  special  order  for  bread,  without  so 
much  as  eating  one  pinch  from  the  soft  and 
temptingly  odorous  middle  of  the  loaf. 

So  after  that.  Lonely  went  in  and  out  of  the 


FALSE  GODS  ARE  PURSUED  85 

house  by  way  of  the  bake-shop,  and  whenever 
he  beheld  an  audience  awaiting  his  egress,  he 

appeared  before  them  smacking  his  lips  with 
great  relish  and  protesting  he  could  still  taste 
that  last  chocolate  mouse.  But  never  a  choco- 
late mouse,  or  a  licorice-stick,  or  an  all-day 
sucker  did  he  deign  to  pass  on  to  his  band 
of  hungering  and  still  hoping  worshipers  and 
followers.  Six  new  glass  jars  of  sweets  added 
to  the  poignancy  of  their  misery,  standing  on 
a  shelf  in  alluring  regularity,  marked  "  Pepper- 
mint," " Wintergreen,"  "Lemon  Drops," 
«  Horehound,"  "  Extra  Mixed,"  and  last,  but 
not  least,  "  Brandy  Drops." 

This  latest  spectacular  addition  to  the  bake- 
shop's  :,.ock  was  too  much  even  for  the 
Preacher's  son,  then  strictly  enjoined  to  shun 
and  eschew  the  society  of  Lonely  O'Malley. 
Lionel  Clarence,  after  feasting  his  eyes  on 
the  wonderful  window,  crowded  in  among  the 
little  baby-carriages  and  go-carts  and  urchins 
and  damsels  of  the  street,  and  once  more  met 
his  old  friend  Lonely  in  secret.  Then,  flaunt- 
ing all  parental  mandates,  he  stole  a  sauce- 
pan from  the  home  kitchen  and  with  the  New 
Boy  repaired  to  Watterson's  Creek,  where 


86 


LONELY  O'MAI.LKY 


they  caught,  stewed,  and  ate  a  goodly  meal  of 
crayfish. 

It  was  the  arrival  and  display  of  a  fine  lot 
of  maple-sugar  that  eventually  overcame  Annie 
Eliza,  and  prompted  her  ruthlessly  and  de- 
cisively to  smash  her  savings-bank  with  a  ham- 
mer. Then  gathering  up  her  seven  scattered 
pennies,  she  took  destiny  in  her  own  hand, 
and  went  straight  to  the  bake-shop.  Discover- 
ing Betty  Doyle  with  her  nose  flattened  hun- 
grily against  the  window,  she  told  her  of  her 
venturous  plan. 

Together  they  invaded  the  little  shop,  as 
the  tiny  bell  above  the  door  rang  with  a  shrill 
and  awe-inspiring  clatter.  Once  across  that 
sacred  portal,  they  gazed  about  them  bewil- 
dered, almost  overcome  by  the  wealth  of  the 
treasure  before  them. 

Lonely's  father,  the  far-famed  hero  of  the 
Klondike,  was  busy  at  the  bake-ovens,'  and  to 
their  chagrin,  they  caught  not  even  a  fleeting 
glimpse  of  that  illustrious  but  self-effecing 

■  Fwrtunately  for  his  business,  Timothy  O'Malley  had 
taken  unto  himself  a  partner,  a  one-legged  German  bearing 
the  illustrious  name  of  Biunarck,  whoae  duty  it  was  to  delim- 
bread  and  collect  accounts. 


FALi>ii  r  JDS  ARE  PURSUED  87 

man.  His  wife,  however,  was  busily  engaged 
in  wiping  down  the  shelves,  putting  a  news- 
paper over  a  large  pan  of  cooling  maple-sugar, 
which  had  just  gone  through  a  frugal  course 

of  dilution  with  wholesome  brown  sugar. 

Annie  Eliza  couldn't  decide  whether  to 
take  all  chocolate  mice,  r  half  in  so  of  the 
fresh  maple-sugar.  She  finall;  com^.jmised 
on  a  chocolate  mouse  and  a  ; -nnyworth  of 
candy  from  each  and  t /ery  out  (.1  the  six  new 
ja». 

While  this  purchase  was  being  counted  out, 
Lonely's  voice  sounded  wistfully  from  with- 
out the  back  door  of  the  little  shop. 

"  Say,  maw,  ain't  you  a-goin'  to  let  me  scrape 

out  that  maple-sugar  pot  ?  " 

Annie  Eliza  and  Betty  looked  at  each  other, 

electrified. 

"  Lonely,  you  stop  nagging !  "  answered  his 
mother,  as  she  dropped  the  seven  pennies  in 
a  cigar-box  behind  the  counter. 

"  But  I  ain't  had  a  taste  of  any  of  this  good 
stuff  since  we  moved  in  !  "  continued  the  dole- 
ful and  reproving  voice  of  Lonely. 

The  two  shoppers  exchanged  glances. 

"  You  know  what  your  fath  t  said  about 


88  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

that.  Lonely  ! "  warned  his  mother,  as  she 

took  up  her  brush  once  more. 

"Well,  I  think  it's— it's  rotten,  I  can't 
have  a  taste  o'  candy  now  and  then!"  he 
almost  howled,  in  irate  indignation. 

The  two  visitors  withdrew,  breathlessly. 
The  revelation  had  come.  Lonely  O'Malley 
was  a  cheat,  an  impostor,  a  make-believe! 
The  litde  bell  over  the  door  had  scarcely 
grown  still,  once  more,  before  the  news  spread 
up  and  down  the  street  like  wild-fire. 

Two  hours  later  a  youthful  Ca;sar  stepped 
pompously  forth  from  the  Forum,  uncon- 
scious of  the  awaiting  assassin's  blow.  He  was 
rubbing  his  stomach  gleefully,  and  smacking 
his  lips  with  unspeakable  gusto. 

"  Gee,  that  new  maple-sugar  is  good ! "  he 
declared,  with  a  wag  of  the  head. 

A  shrill  and  hostile  jeer  went  up  from  the 
once  loyal  and  fawning  circle. 

Lonely  turned  to  Annie  Eliza,  puzzled. 
That  young  lady,  with  a  face  very  much  be- 
smeared and  gummy,  thrust  forward  her  chin, 
distorted  her  sugar-coated  pink  cheeks,  and 
stuck  out  a  defiant,  contemptuous,  and  snake- 
like tongue  at  him. 


FALSE  GODS  ARE  PURSUED  89 
"Coin*  to  let  me  scrape  out  the  maple- 
sugar  pot  ?  "  mocked  and  taunted  Betty  Doyle, 
with  bitter  laughter.  A  dozen  young  voices* 
were  quick  to  take  up  the  cry,  and  together  his 
once  fr-'-hfiil  adherents  danced  off  down  the 
street,  flinging  back 
at  him  that  Parthian 
taunt.  Heleaned  dis- 
consolately against 
the  bake-shop  door, 
and  knew  that  the 
day  of  his  tyranny 
was  over,  that  even 
his  mock  rule,  his 
pretendership,  had 
come  to  an  ignomini- 
ous close.    Then  he 
made  his  escape  to 

the  haymow,  where  he  worked  feverishly  and 
soothingly  on  his  flying-machine.  After  all, 
it  was  just  as  well ;  this  was  not  the  king- 
dom, this  little  land  of  braids  and  petticoats, 
in  which  a  Caesar  should  feel  at  home.  It  was 
all  over,  and  for  all  time,  between  him  and 
Annie  Eliza. 

His  awakening  may  have  been  a  nidc  and 


STUCK  OUT  A  SNAKE-UKE 
TONGUE  AT  HIM 


90  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

chastening  one,  but  through  it  he  learned,  as 
other  warriors  had  learned,  that  women  can- 
not make  up  all  a  man's  world,  that  Calypso 

cannot  always  hold  out  her  softer  charms  to 
a  Ulysses,  old  or  new,  that  the  tawniest-haired 
Cleopatra  cannot  always  bind  a  Csesar  in 
slavish  bonds.  He  hungered  once  more  for 
a  world  of  arms  and  men,  for  the  turbulence 
of  his  own  kind,  for  the  dust  and  battle  of 
real  boyhood  ! 

Then,  finding  that  even  work  on  his  ever- 
troublesome  flying -machine  palled,  he  de- 
scended from  the  hay-loft,  and  making  his 
escape  over  the  back  fence,  sat  in  the  sun  anc 
moodily  yet  raptly  contemplated  the  circus 
poster  covering  one  whole  side  of  the  Barri- 
sons'  barn.  Then,  with  a  sudden  tingle  of 
delight,  he  saw,  as  he  looked  at  the  foot- 
bill,  that  the  following  day  was  the  date  for 
its  arrival.  That  such  an  event  could  slip 
his  memory  showed  eloquently  enough  how 
enslaved  and  unmanned  he  had  been.  The 
circus  was  coming,  and  he  had  forgotten  it ! 

Then  he  fell  to  studying  the  poster  once 
more,  wondering  if  there  would  be  more  than 
eleven  elephants  —  that  colossal  number  h:iv- 


FALSE  GODS  ARE  PURSUED  91 

ing  actually  made  up  the  last  Cowansburg 
parade.  Then  he  turned  to  marveling  at  the 
strange  climate  of  the  pictured  landscape  before 
him,  where  side  by  side  with  the  polar  bear  strid- 
ing back  and  forth  on  his  icy  berg,  the  giraffe 
nibbled  nonchalantly  at  the  top  of  a  luxuriant 
palm-tree,  and  the  trained  seal  smoked  his 
pipe  in  the  very  midst  of  a  stately  caravan  of 
Arabian  camels  wending  circuitously  about  an 
arid  Sahara  of  sand. 


MiiJr  soung  with  the  April  hi  Hi,  on<e  more 

With  you  as  ii  child  I  zvent ; 
And  the  dusk  teas  filled  with  a  calmer  joy. 

And  the  twilight  with  tentent. 

And  under  the  stars  I  drezc  yea  close. 
And  you  lay  on  my  very  heart ; 

Yet  we,  O  Child,  as  world fr^m  world, 
Wert  a  millitn  leagues  apart* 


CHAPTER  IV 


/«  which  there  is  a  Triumphal  Procession 

ONLY  a  few  birds  were  singing  drowsily 
in  the  early  morning  dusk  when  Lonely 
stole  through  the  side  door,  well  out  of  sight 
from  the  bakery  window,  climbed  the  back 
fence,  and  cut  across  half  a  dozen  vacant  lots 
to  the  Cannery,  and  from  there  to  the  Boiler 
Works,  and  from  there  to  the  Railway  Siding 
itself.  The  air  was  cool  and  quiet  and  dark, 
and  the  heavy  dew  wet  his  feet.  He  had  gone 
forth  breakfastless,  stopping  only  long  enough 
to  devour  a  handful  or  two  of  malignantly  green 
gooseberries  from  the  Gubtills'  bushes. 

But  for  all  that,  it  was  a  great  and  glorious 
morning. 

For  there,  already  drawing  up  on  the  Siding, 
was  the  shabbily  flamboyant  circus  train,  the 
gaudily  lettered  sleepers,  the  flat-cars  with  the 
solemnly  covered  wagons — wagons  with  wheels 
of  vivid  red  and  gold  showing  beneath  the 
draggled  canvas — the  disembarking  animals, 
the  hurrying,  hallooing,  bustling,  swearing 


96  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

circus  hands,  already  in  the  midst  of  their 
day's  work,  with  the  sun  not  yet  up  over  the 
eastern  hills. 

It  was,  I  suppose,  the  same  old  shoddy 
circus,  with  the  same  old  shoddy  tents  and 
methods,  and  the  same  old  indescribable 
smells  and  sounds,  that  has  been  alighting 
magically  in  small  towns  and  as  magically  dis- 
appearing by  night  again,  for  a  full  half-century 

Yet  it  was  all  once  more  new  and  strange 
and  marvelous  to  Lonely,  —  the  flash  of  the 
highly  varnished  floats,  the  cluck  of  the  heavy 
little  wagon  wheels,  the  clinking  and  rattling 
of  the  chains,  the  shuffling  and  sleepy-eyed 
elephants  (which  promptly  kill  the  reckless 
youth  who  dares  to  feed  them  so  much  as 
a  thimbleful  of  chewing-tobacco,  or,  should  he 
escape  for  the  day,  years  hence  will  remember 
and  single  out  the  inexorably  doomed  offender), 
the  enchanting,  musty  animal-smells,  the  grimy 
and  foreign-looking  tent-hands   and  stake- 
drivers,  redolent  of  mystery  and  strong  tobacco 
(to  hold  for  whom  even  a  halter  shank  was 
a  never-to-be-forgotten  honor),  the  trotting 
nimble-footed  Shetland  ponies,  the  deceptive- 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  97 

looking  zebra,  whose  kick  was  reputed  to  be 
fatal,  the  long-striding  and  stately-necked 
camels,  the  confused  snarl  and  roar  of  invisible 
animals  behind  the  alluring  little  shuttered 
windows,  leaving  youth  to  wonder  which  could 
be  the  tameless  Royal  Bengal  Tiger  and  which 
the  old  Man-Eating  Leopard  with  so  many 
lives  to  his  credit.  Was  it  any  wonder,  indeed, 
that  Lonely's  sleep  had  been  broken  and  brief 
the  night  before  ? 

He  had  hoped  to  be  on  the  field  before  any 
of  the  town  boys ;  but  when  he  arrived  a  dozen 
scantily-robed  urchins  and  half  a  hundred  men 
were  already  lined  up  along  the  railway  tracks. 
So  Lonely,  after  wistfully  but  ineffectually 
following  one  of  the  drivers  back  and  forth 
between  the  railway  and  the  tent  grounds, 
side-tracked  his  attention  to  a  more  alert- 
looking  man  in  a  black  derby,  and  through  so 
doing  was  at  last  permitted  to  carry  a  pair  of 
huge  rubber  boots,  a  leather  bucket,  and  four 
horse-blankets.  There  was  something  foreign 
and  fine,  he  decided,  even  in  the  smell  of  those 
particular  horse-blankets. 

He  was  struggling  under  this  load  toward 
the  main  tent  entrance,  happy  but  almost 


98  LONELY  O'MALLKY 

bnjathless.  when  the  man  in  the  bJack  derby 
called  sharply  after  him.  ' 

Here  you.  Redhead,  fetch  them  things 
round  to  the  cook-tent ! " 

Lonely  obeyed  meekly  and  promptly,  _ 
though  m  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life  he  allowed 
no  such  expletives  to  pass  unchallenged, - 
feelmg  for  the  moment  that  he  was  a  part  of 
that  vast  n  .  i  stupendous  machinery  of  amuse- 


He  followed  his  guardian  in  under  one  of 
the  smaller  tents,  where  his  intoxicated  young 
nostnls  caught  their  first  whiff  of  canvas  and 
sawdust  -  a  smell  like  unto  which  there  is 
and  can  be  noother.  Later,  mingled  with  this 
stwnge  odor,  he  detected  the  smell  of  coffee 
and  cooking  meat.  This  brought  him  to  a 
standstdl  causing  him  to  scratch  his  russet 
httle  head  absently,  and  wonder  just  how  long 
It  was  smce  he  had  breakfasted  and  just  how 
It  was  meat  and  coffee  could  smell  so  good 

Then,  coming  to  his  senses  and  getting 
more  accustomed  to  his  surroundings,  he 
beheld  two  long  tables,  at  which  more  or  less 
gnmy  and  hungry  and  tired-looking  men  and 
women  sat.  bolting  down  a  hurried  breakfast 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCKSSION  99 

One  keen  glance  at  them  showed  him  plainly 
enough  that  these  common  and  earthly  look- 
ing persons  were  not  the  Great  Beings  who 
guided  rocking  and  lurching  Roman  chariots, 
and  fluttered  around  rings  in  crimson  tights 
and  spangled  brcech-cloths,  and  spun  aliout 
trapezes  in  pink  and  gold  and  blue,  daringly 
defying  danger  and  death,  and  setting  at 
naught,  as  the  bill-boards  distinctly  said,  all 
and  every  law  of  gravitation  !  They  were  the 
same  as  other  folks,  only  hungrier  and  wearier 
looking,  thought  Lonely,  as  he  still  waited 
awkwardly,  loath  to  take  his  departure  into 
the  mere  light  of  common  day. 

"  Catch,  Starr\'  Eyes,"  cried  a  fat  woman 
with  yeUow  hair,  as  she  tossed  a  hot  biscuit  at 
his  head.  This  he  caught  on  the  fly,  neatly, 
and  straightway  tucked  securely  down  in  his 
deepest  blue  denim  overalls'  pocket.  Being 
a  real  and  genuine  circus  biscuit,  it  was,  obvi- 
ously, something  too  consecrated  to  eat. 

The  fat  woman  laughed  at  this,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  the  whole  table  seemed  smiling  ar 
Lonely,  who  drew  back  a  little,  abashed.  Yet 
behind  the  cheery  and  grateful  unconcern  of 
his  answering  grin  he  had  decided  that  at  the 


loo  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

firit  grain  of  encouragement  from  them  he 
would  forsake  his  home  and  his  family  and 
his  half-finished  air-ship,  and  run  away  with 
them  for  all  time,  to  carry  water  and  hay  to 
the  elephants  for  the  rest  of  a  happy,  happy 

Lonely's  old  friend  with  the  derby  hat  came 
in  hurriedly,  and  sat  down  at  one  end  of  the 
long  table. 

"Anything  else  I  cn  do  for  you?"  the 
boy  managed  to  squeeze  out,  in  a  sudden 
burst  of  courage. 

The  man  at  the  end  of  the  table  looked 
Lonely  up  and  down,  sharply. 

"  Anything  more  ? "  asked  Lonely,  with  one 
wistful  shoulder  hunched  up. 

"  Yes,  Carrots,  there  is,"  answered  the  man. 
"  Here,  sit  down  here  I  " 

Lonely  sat  down,  wonderingly. 
"  Now,  put  this  into  your  face  !  " 
And  before  the  boy  could  fully  understand, 
there  was  shoved  over  in  front  of  him  a  cup 
of  steaming  coffee  and  a  plate  on  which  stood 
a  goodly  slice  of  beefsteak  and  a  hot  biscuit 
swimming  in  gravy. 

Lonely  devoured  this  plateful  in  rapt  silence, 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  loi 

far  too  moved  to  talk.  He  even  wondereil  if 
it  would  be  all  right  to  keep  the  hone,  as  a 
sort  of  sacred  relic. 

"  Now,  Sunshine,  d'  you  want  a  job  ? " 

Lonely  did. 

**  D'  you  think  you  can  hustle  in  to  the 


NOW,  HUT  THtt  imro  youR  face  ! 


Mayor's  house  with  this  letter?  Or  d*  you 
know  where  he  hangs  out  ? " 

"  Yep  !  "  answered  Lonely  promptly,  with- 
out a  quaver.  He  knew  that  he  could  soon 
find  out  —  which  amounted  to  about  the  same 
thing. 

"  He  '11  give  you  a  note  to  fetch  back. 


102  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

Have  it  here  good  and  quick,  and  I  'II  make 
you  my  head  trapeze  man  ! " 
Lonely  looked  at  him  steadily. 
"  I  *d  rather  do  tumblin',"  he  ventured, 
earnestly;  and  he  wondered  just  why  the  man 
hawhawed  a  little,  as  he  pushed  him  hur- 
riedly out  of  the  tent. 

He  sped  away  from  the  musty-smelling 
place  of  hunger,  dead  drunk,  hopelessly  intox- 
icated with  that  wine  which  can  be  bought  at 
few  inns  and  leaves  no  taste  of  ashes  on  the 
lips  of  youth. 

It  was  all  over  and  done  with.  Alaska 
Alice,  the  flying-machine,  home  and  friends, 
they  were  things  of  the  past.  He  was  to  go 
away  and  join  the  circus  ! 

Lonely  made  his  way  into  the  town  float- 
ing on  clouds,  to  the  sound  of  celestial  music. 
Unseeing  and  unheeding,  he  passed  little 
hurrying  groups  of  boys  — leaving  them  to 
gaze  in  wonder  after  the  Outlander  who  could 
so  defy  the  last  law  of  juvenile  gravitation 
and  travel  away,  at  such  a  time,  from  that 
eternal  centre  of  attraction,  the  circus  tent. 

Houses  were  opening  up  sleepily,  shutters 
were  being  taken  down  from  shop-windows, 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  103 

the  streets  were  wakening  to  their  first  stir  of 
life.  And  during  that  morning  Lonely  had 
already  lived  through  so  much  1  He  had  seen 
the  elephants  unloaded,  and  herded,  and  fed, 
the  canvas  unrolled,  the  main-top  hoisted,  the 
two  sawdust  rings  laid  out,  the  camels  watered 
and  groomed,  the  wagons  of  crimson  and  gold 
unhooded,  —  and  last  of  all,  he  had  taken  the 
final  step  which  led  to  the  eternal  glory  and 
glitter  of  the  circus  tumbler. 

The  Mayor  of  Chamboro,  like  the  little 
town  over  which  he  held  quiet  sway,  was  of 
a  somnolent  turn  of  mind.  It  was  only  after 
a  long  and  weary  wait  that  Lonely,  with  his 
precious  letter,  once  more  made  his  winged 
way  back  to  the  circus  grounds. 

He  found  his  friend  of  the  cook-tent  now 
mounted  to  a  little  office  on  wheels,  the  centre 
of  a  new  world  of  activity,  of  hurrying  men, 
and  questioning  attendants,  and  hastily  dis- 
patched orders.  He  took  one  sharp  look  at 
Lonely,  caught  the  paper  from  his  hand,  ran 
his  eye  over  it,  and  rattled  out: 

"  Be  at  the  ticket-wagon  at  one  !  " 

Lonely's  last  plaguing  doubt  died  away  at 
that  too  significant  and  business-like  speech. 


104  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"Will  I  go  on  to-day?"  he  asked,  in  a 
transport. 

"  On  ?  Go  on  ?  How  d'  you  mean  ? " 
"  You  said  I  was  to  be  one  o'  the  tumb- 
lers ?  "  said  Lonely,  bravely. 

The  man  was  either  too  busy  or  too  gener- 
ous to  laugh  outright  at  the  boy.  He  glanced 
down  into  the  hungry,  wistful  face,  and  for  one 
fleeting  moment  the  grim  corners  of  his  mouth 
went  up.  Then,  with  a  brusque  "Ticket- 
wagon  at  one  !  "  he  waved  the  boy  aside,  and 
a  moment  later  was  in  a  fiery  dispute  about 
the  beef  supply  for  the  Hons,  heatedly  resent- 
ing the  monopolistic  methods  of  Chamboro's 
local  butcher.  To  his  last  day  Lonely  always 
privately  believed  that  it  was  Piggie  Brennan's 
fether  who  had  stood  between  him  and  a  life 
of  never-ending  music  and  spangles  and  ap- 
plause. A  butcher  and  his  sordid  squabbles 
about  the  price  of  beef!  — to  come  between 
him  and  his  eluding  heaven!  And  Lonely, 
deep  down  in  his  heart,  determined  that  some 
day  he  would  take  it  out  of  that  butcher's 
son's  hide,  if  ever  he  got  the  chance. 

He  tried  to  worm  his  way  back  through 
the  crowd,  at  least  to  demand  his  ticket.  But 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  105 

the  busy  circle  made  short  shrift  of  him,  and 
his  heart  sank  to  its  lowest  depth  as  he  found 
himself  once  more  pushed  and  jostled  igno- 
miniously  into  the  background.  It  was  the 
old,  old  trick.  Year  after  year  he  had  helped 
water  the  elephants,  and  had  run  messages, 
and  had  piloted  the  tent-hands  to  the  best 
drinking-well  in  all  Cowansburg,  and  had 
borrowed  matches  for  the  stake-drivers  —  and 
year  by  year  he  had  been  fed  on  only  empty 
and  heart-breaking  promises ! 

But  in  such  a  place  and  at  such  a  time  even 
sorrow  like  unto  his  could  not  long  remain. 
He  choked  back  an  impotent  sniffle  or  two, 
and  ten  minutes  later  was  wandering  in  among 
the  side-show  canvases,  hoping  to  get  a  gra- 
tuitous glimpse  of  the  Fat  Woman,  trying  to 
find  out  where  the  snakes  were  kept,  taking 
an  experimental  pound  at  one  of  the  big  drums, 
speculating  as  to  the  contents  of  many  mys- 
terious boxes,  and  still  vaguely  asking  him- 
self if  those  star-decked  and  beautiful  visions 
who  rode  on  the  piebald  horses  and  the  ele- 
phants really  ate  beefsteak  and  hot  biscuits, 
the  same  as  the  common  circus  hands;  and 
if,  too,  those  winged,  angel  women  in  spotless 


106  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

white  gauze  who  dove  through  tissue-paper 
hoops  and  alighted  so  birdlike  on  the  crupper 
of  an  Orloff  stallion,  really  traveled  in  the 
midst  of  such  dust  and  bustle  and  noisy  pro- 
fanity. 

And  the  mad  stir  and  bustle  kept  up ;  at- 
tendants herded  back  too  inquisitive  boys,  the 
city  of  canvas  grew  on  the  air  as  at  the  touch 
of  unseen  magicians,  the  banners  were  loosed 
and  floated  with  holiday  flutter  and  abandon, 
the  eight  and  ten-teamed  wagons  swung  pon- 
derously and  prancingly  out  for  the  procession, 
the  musicians  took  their  seats  in  the  great  high 
bluc-and-white  band-wagon,  as  haughty  as  the 
deck  of  a  Spanish  galleon,  and  already  the  more 
knowing  ones  were  trailing  townward,  to  be- 
hold the  full  pageant  at  its  earliest  point,  and 
as  often  thereafter  as  nimble  legs  and  a  sadly 
overtaxed  second-wind  would  permit. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  a  sudden  halt 
came  to  the  Proceedings.  The  man  from  the 
little  office-wagon  was  seen  to  run  over  to 
the  great  blue-and-gold  float  of  the  Goddess 
of  Liberty.  La  Belle  Leona,  the  Queen  of  the 
Air,  and  also  one  of  the  four  pages  who  held 
up  the  voluminous  skirts  of  the  resplendent 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  107 

Goddess  of  the  Free,  had  been  taken  ill  with 
colic,  and  because  of  too  copious  draughts  of 
brandy  from  the  flask  of  Vallerita,  the  Sorcer- 
ess of  the  Lion  Cage,  was  unable  to  stand  on 
firm  ground,  much  less  to  retain  her  uncertain 
equilibrium  upon  the  top  of  a  shaking  and 
rumbling  wagon-float. 

Some  one  suddenly  caught  Lonely  by  the 
shoulder,  sharply,  and  swung  him  round  to 
the  float. 

"  Want  to  go  on  now  ?  " 

If  there  was  a  note  of  mockery  in  the  ques- 
tion, it  shot  wide  of  Lonely's  consciousness. 

The  boy  nodded  his  head,  for  the  second 
time  too  full  for  utterance. 

"  Skip  in  there,  then,  quick  !  They  'II  fix 
you  up ! " 

If  the  man  in  the  derby  hat  had  told 
Lonely  to  take  his  pick  of  all  the  Shetland 
ponies  and  ride  off  home  with  it,  he  could  not 

/e  given  that  wide-eytd  and  resilient-spirited 
jung  adve. '  Ter  any  keener  sense  of  bliss. 

The  only  thorn  in  his  rose  of  perfect  joy 
was  the  discovery  that  he  had  to  be  togged  up 
as  a  young  woman.  But  already  it  was  too 
late  to  draw  back,  for  as  he  entered  the  many- 


io8  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

odored  little  dressing-tent,  thronged  with 
trunks  and  boxes  and  dresses  and  women 
busily  engaged  in  flinging  silver-spangled 
finery  over  their  bare  shoulders,  Lonely  was 
promptly  seized  by  CavaroUa,  the  Qyeen  of 
the  Tight  Rope,  and  as  peremptorily  and 
calmly  deprived  of  his  outer  raiment  as 
though  he  had  been  a  head  of  lettuce  being 
made  ready  for  the  cook-tent  dinner. 

Yet  as  nobody  seemed  to  pay  the  slightest 
attention  to  his  pink-skinned  embarrassment, 
he  came  to  perspire  less  b /  the  time  he  had 
been  padded  out  with  a  soiled  and  sadly  worn 
pair  of  «  symmetricals  "  and  had  thrust  his 
bandy  young  legs  into  a  pair  of  slack  and 
equally  soiled  trunk-hose.  He  was  then 
backed  up  and  plumped  down  on  a  box,  with 
much  dispatch  and  energy,  where  he  was  given 
a  generous  sweep  of  rice  powder,  and  a  hasty 
dab  or  two  of  red  face-paint  was  put  on  his 
freckled  cheeks  —  though  what  make-up  could 
ever  adequately  hide  that  nebulous  runway  of 
telltale  turkey-spots  ! 

Lonely  cl  imbered  up  on  the  great  wagon  as 
nimbly  and  lightly  as  a  young  monkey,  where 
in  blue-and-white  draped  majesty  already  stood 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  109 

the  somewhat  stoutish  lady  who  was  to  repre- 
sent the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  who,  indeed,  for 
many  and  many  a  year  had  called  out  the  lin- 


THE  GODDESS  OF  LIBERTY  AND  HER  NEW  PAGE 


gering  applause  of  all  dispassionate  lovers  of 
a  psychological  abstraction  made  so  substan- 
tially concrete.  She  was  something  between 
an  angel  and  an  enlarged  Little  Eva,  to  the 


no         LONELY  O'MALLEY 

wondering  eyes  of  her  new  page,  whose  hand 
trembled  a  Jittle  even  at  the  thought  of  hold- 
ing  up  one  corner  of  her  long  and  flowing 
skirts  of  blue  bunting.  In  his  other  hand, 
happily.  Lonely  held  a  wooden  battle-axe 
covered  with  faded  gilding  — a  very  necessary 
help  to  his  steadiness  of  position,  as  he  stood 
there  wondering  just  how  the  Goddess  had 
managed  to  get  safely  up  on  so  high  a  wagon. 

What  hours  and  hours  it  seemed  to  the 
excited  and  impatient  Lonely  before  the  great 
blue-and-gold  float  got  under  way !  What 
icons  he  seemed  to  stand  blinking  at  the  strong 
sunlight  and  shaking  the  gathering  dust  from 
his  gorgeous  trunk-hose ! 

But  at  last  the  ten  champing  teams  strained 
on  the  traces,  the  chains  rattled,  the  whip 
cracked,  somewhere  in  the  dust-hung  distance 
a  band  struck  up,  the  stocky  little  wheels 
chucked  and  jolted  on  their  heavy  axles,  the 
Goddess  called  heatedly  down  for  her  new 
page  not  to  pull  the  clothes  off  her  back, 
the  tents  swam  out  of  sight,  and  Lonely  had 
begun  his  real,  his  triumphal  entrance  into 
Chamboro. 

Of  that  triumphal  tour  he  carried  away  a 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  iii 


never-fading  and  yet  a  rather  muddled  and  hazy 
impression.  He  remembered  the  first  deli- 
cious moment  of  his  discovery  when,  at  the 
comer  of  Barrison  Street,  a  group  of  boys, 
known  as  the  South  River  Gang,  looked  up 
wide-eyed  and  open-mouthed,  and  with  sud- 
den fierce  gestures  and  loud  cries  proclaimed 
it  was  the  baker's  kid  on  the  wagon.  This 
caused  them,  one  and  all,  to  scramble  down 
from  their  points  of  vantage  and  to  trail  helter- 
skelter  after  the  blue-and-gold  float.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  about  it !  For  all  the  state- 
liness  and  solemnity  of  the  powdered  page 
they  could  n.ake  out  the  bandy  legs  and  the 
freckled  nose  —  the  New  Boy  had  run  away 
and  joined  the  Circus  1 

It  was  a  proud  moment  for  Lonely  O'Mal- 
ley.  And  the  news  spread  rapidly,  for  even 
before  Main  Street  was  reached,  the  whole 
Baxter  Street  Gang  had  been  apprised  of  the 
wondrous  fact,  and  at  once  joined  the  others 
and  followed  enviously  at  the  heels  of  the 
great  rocking  float,  debating  how  such  a  thing 
could  ever  come  about,  trying  to  feel  import- 
ant over  the  discovery,  as  they  had  done 
when  it  was  found  that  BifF  Perkins's  uncle. 


iia  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

one  of  the  blacksmith's  strikers  in  the  Boiler 
Works,  knew  the  horse-shoer  who  traveled 
with  the  Sells'  Circus,  and  on  the  day  of  the 
performance  had  drunk  two  glasses  of  beer 
with  him  and  had  talked  about  it  as  though  it 
had  been  nothing  at  all ! 

It  was  in  the  densest  crowd  on  Main  Str.-et 
that  Lonely  made  out  Annie  Eliza  Gubtill, 
clinging  to  her  mother's  hand,  and  for  one 
weak  yet  human  moment  he  indulged  in  a  not 
inaudible  titter  of  triumph.  In  fact,  he  turned 
deliberately,  and  bowing  with  that  grace  and 
ease  which  was  an  outcropping  of  the  courtly 
self-complacency  of  his  maturer  days,  he  threw 
a  kiss  directly  and  unmistakably  at  Annie 
Eliza. 

Something  about  that  mottled  nose  and  that 
wide  and  expansive  smile,  touched  with  its  hun- 
gry looking  mock  humility,  seemed  strangely 
familiar  to  Annie  Eliza.  She  looked  again, 

and,  seeing  one  telltale  shoulder  hunched,  yet 
not  more  than  an  inch  above  the  other,  she 
suddenly  cried  out  shrilly  : 

"  Why,  it 's  Lonely  O'Malley !  O-o-o-oh, 
it  is  Lonely  O'Malley  !  " 

And  even  the  neglect  and  perfidy  of  other 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCKSSION  113 

days  were  forgotten  in  the  swamping  tidal- 
wave  of  pride  which  swept  over  the  young 
lady  who  had  once  known  and  been  faithful  to 
Lonely.  And  other  children  heard  the  cry, 
and  even  the  clown  was  overlooleed,  and  the 
elqphants  half  forgotten,  and  the  hyenas  al- 
lowec^to  go  by  with  a  passing  glance. 

But  like  all  trittinphs,  its  hoar  was  brief. 
Prodigious  and  vast  and  unrivaled  and  gigantic 
as  the  circus  procession  had  been  advertised 
to  be,  it  had,  like  all  such  things,  to  come  to 
an  end  sometime.  The  cheering  melted  away, 
the  music  died  down,  the  calliope  screamed 
its  last  note,  the  horses  were  unhitched  and 
hurried  off,  the  wagons  were  dismantled,  and 
Lonely  was  once  more  hustled  dwwn  into  the 
stuffy  little  dressing-tent. 

Here  he  experienced  a  second  qualm  of  re- 
bellious anger,  as  he  found  himself  seized  by 
a  stout  woman  in  a  dirty  apron,  and  once  more 
peeled  like  an  orange  and  ordered  to  get  into 
his  clothes,  though,  indeed,  — and  this  he  saw 
to  his  secret  chagrin,  —  the  dozen  busy  dr- 
cus-women  paid  no  more  attention  to  him  than 
if  he  had  been  a  little  girl  putting  on  her  shoes 
i>nd  stockings ;  so,  holding  that  what  was  sauce 


114  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

for  the  goose  wu  Muce  for  the  gander,  he 
made  himself  more  at  his  ease,  and  was  inter- 
estedly and  pointedly  watching  the  half^iressed 
Queen  of  the  Tight  Rope  inhaling  cigarette 
smoke,  when  he  was  seized  by  the  woman  in 
the  dirty  apron,  and  without  ceremony  or 
apology  thrust  from  the  tent. 

He  made  his  way  disconsolately  about,  look- 
ing for  the  wagon-office,  in  the  hope  that  the 
manager's  possible  delight  at  the  grace  and  ease 
with  which  he  had  filled  his  part  as  a  page 
might  induce  that  bluff  gentleman  yet  to 
change  his  mind  and  make  serious  advances 
as  to  Lonely's  joining  the  Circus  for  all  time. 
He  felt  vaguely  disturbed,  for  the  moment,  at 
the  thought  that  of  late  he  had  sadly  neglected 
his  muscles,  that  the  angle-worm  oil  had  been 
applied  only  scantily  and  carelessly,  and  that 
he  had  never  yet  perfected  to  his  own  Uking 
his  new  twister  back-somersault. 

Yet,  after  all  the  excitement  and  activity  of 
the  morning,  he  soon  began  to  feel  an  empti- 
ness m  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  where  the  in- 
exorable dock  of  nature  was  warning  him  the 
dmner-hour  must  be  well  at  hand.  Just  as  he 
was  debating  on  his  course  of  action,  a  bluff 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  lis 

voice  called  to  him.  It  was  the  circus  manager 
himself. 

"  Here,  Carrots,  this  is  yours,  I  guess ! " 

He  handed  down  to  the  startled  boy  a  little 
oblong  bit  of  pasteboard,  tinted  blue  —  the 
most  celestial  of  blues,  it  always  seemed  to 
Lonely  —  and  the  boy  remembered  that  it 
was  always  blue  for  children,  red  for  grown- 
ups. 

"  Here,  you,  take  a  couple  more  !  "  said  the 
man  hurriedly ;  then  he  turned  to  speak  to 
a  passing  attendant,  without  so  much  as  look- 
ing at  the  two  little  pieces  of  blue  pasteboard 
he  was  holding  out  for  the  boy  to  take. 

Lonely  shook  his  russet  head,  sadly  but 
firmly. 

In  all  Chamboro  there  was  not  one  soul, 

he  very  well  knew,  who  could  make  use  of 
those  tickets.  He  had  not  a  friend  in  the  town 
to  bring  along  with  him.  It  was  useless  to 
think  of  the  Preacher's  Son  ;  even  Annie  Eliza 
was  out  of  the  question.  His  honors  had  come 
to  him  too  late  in  life ;  he  had  been  crowned 
in  the  hour  of  dissolution  ! 

And  if  the  man  in  the  black  derby  hat  had 
not  been  such  a  busy  and  preoccupied  person- 


ii6  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

age,  he  might  have  taken  a  second  and  longer 
look  at  the  sad-eyed  urchin  who  refused,  and 
actually  turned  away  from  a  circus  ticket. 

It  was  wonderful,  however,  what  a  hurried 
though  substantial  dinner  did  for  Lonely's 
blighted  hopes,  broken  heart,  and  altogether 
wasted  life.  He  slipped  out  of  the  back  door, 
wiping  the  crumbs  from  his  still  masticating 
mouth.  There,  as  he  hurried  out  to  feed  his 
new  brindled  pup,  answering  to  the  name  of 
Shivers,  and  procured  through  the  transfer 
of  a  hunting-knife  and  three  shares  in  his  new 
air-ship  when  completed,  he  caught  a  fleeting 
glimpse  of  Lionel  Clarence,  escaping  from  the 
parsonage  for  one  last  despairing  study  of  the 
ever-assuaging  and  yet  ever-inflammatory  cir- 
cus poster,  on  the  back  of  the  Harrisons'  barn. 

Lonely  reimprisoned  Shivers  under  the  in- 
verted baby-carriage  body,  where  he  was  forced 
to  make  his  new  home  pending  the  growth  of 
those  stronger  ties  which  were  to  bind  him 
equally  to  Homer  and  Gilead.  Then  the  boy 
cut  after  the  escaping  Preacher's  son. 

Lionel  Clarence,  when  the  other  boy  joined 
him,  was  shaking  his  head  with  gloomy 
cynicism  over  the  h'ghly-colored  panorama. 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  117 

"  All  that  is  n't  true  !  "  declared  the  Preach- 
er's son.  "  I  just  don't  believe  they  ever 
could  do  those  things,  and  have  all  those 
animals ! " 

After  all,  thought  Lonely,  there  were  worse 
fates  than  his.  What  if  destiny  had  foredoomed 
him  to  life  in  a  parsonage,  and  collars  and  long 
hair ! 

"  Why,  ain't  you  goin*  ? "  asked  the  baker's 
son,  loftily,  incredulously. 

Again  Lionel  Clarence  shook  his  head. 

"  Mother  said  I  might,  perhaps, — but  father 
decided  it  would  n't  look  right,  you  know  !  " 

"  Who  cares  for  looks  !  "  cried  Lonely,  an- 
archistically,  spitting  through  his  teeth. 

Lionel  Clarence  sighed  heavily.  A  gentle 
little  glow  suffused  Lonely's  diaphragm. 

"Why  don't  you  just  pike  out  by  your- 
self, same  as  me  ?  Just  mosey  off  and  take  it 
in,  and  then  rub  some  resin  and  horse-hairs 
on,  if  you  'vc  got  to  get  a  lickin'  ?  " 

He  felt  truly  sorry  for  Lionel  Clarence. 

"  Are  you  goin'  ?  "  asked  the  Preacher's  son, 
rapturously. 

"  Cert !  "  said  the  laconic  Lonely,  spitting 
again,  the  same  as  a  tent-hand  might. 


ii8  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"  Will  you  tell  me  things  —  when  you  get 
back?" 

The  glow  in  Lonely's  midriff  was  mounting 
to  an  intensity  always  ominous.  Yet  he  de- 
cided to  take  his  time  about  it,  and  enjoy  the 
taste  of  the  situation  to  the  full. 

He  drew  closer  to  the  other  boy  with  his 
heels  well  planted  apart. 

"  Want  to  come  ? "  he  asked  at  last,  casually. 

"  Right  into  the  main  show  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  Right  in  !  " 

"  Would  n't  we  have  to  hook  in  ?  "  parried 
the  Preacher's  son,  infected  by  the  other  boy's 
spirit  of  adventure. 

"  Nope  I  "  said  Lonely,  secretly  feeling  for 
his  blue  ticket. 

"  But  where  would  we  ever  get  half  a  dol- 
lar?" almost  wailed  Lionel  Clarence.  The 
O'Reillys,  he  knew,  had  sold  their  cook-stove 
so  that  the  fiimily  might  attend  the  perform- 
ance en  bloc;  but  the  O'Reillys  were  lazy, 
improvident,  and  shiftless,  a  blot  on  the  fair 
name  of  Chamhoro. 

Lonely  smiled  loftily.  He  flipped  the  blue 
ticket  carelessly,  contemptuously,  disdainfully, 
into  the  other  boy's  lap. 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCKSSION  ,,9 

"Go  on,  and  have  sonic  fun,"  he  cried, 
grandly.  "  I  could  have  got  half  a  do/en  for 
you,  if  you 'd  only  said  something  ahout  it !  " 

And  he  looked  offended  and  hurt  at  the 
thought  of  such  an  oversight  on  the  part  of 
the  Preacher's  son.  This  latter  youth  was 
already  peering  cautiously  about  him,  to  see 
if  the  coast  was  clear  for  swift  and  speedy 
escape. 

«  H  ow — how  did  you  ever  get  it,  Lonely  ? " 
he  gasped. 

"  Get  it?  — why,  J  always  get  'em,  when  I 
want  'em  !  You'll  see  me  in  with  another  this 
afternoon  !  "  he  boasted  recklessly,  with  little 
thought  for  the  future. 

Then,  as  Lionel  Clarence  shook  himself 
together.  Lonely  cautioned  him  to  be  sure  to 
get  his  seat  up  close  to  the  band,  even  calling 
after  the  other  boy,  as  he  began  to  scurry  and 
scramble  across  back  lots,  that  he  himself 
might  drop  in  and  meet  him  there,  sometime 
after  the  show  started. 



Alone,  making  his  hot  and  dusty  way  out 
to  the  circus  grounds,  without  his  ticket  and 
without  money,  Lonely  experienced  that  chill- 


I20  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

ing  reaction  which  always  came  in  the  wake 
of  one  of  his  "  grand  moments."  Three  times 
he  was  swept  forlornly  past  the  ticket-seller, 
without  so  much  as  catching  the  eye  of  his 
old-time  friend ;  twice  he  was  driven  wrath- 
fully  and  promptly  outside  the  ropes.  And 
time  was  flying.  The  crowd  grew  smaller,  the 
shadows  grew  a  little  longer,  the  draught-horses 
placidly  munched  their  hay,  the  sound  of 
muffled  music  crept  out  through  the  rippling 
canvas.  The  Grand  Entry  had  begun. 

Lonely  circled  the  long,  well-guarded  ring 
of  tent-stakes,  broken,  humiliated,  thrice  chas- 
tened, and  vet  for  all  his  outward  aimlessness, 
still  tense  of  nerve  and  alert  of  eye. 

On  the  sunny  southwest  side  of  the  great 
tent  he  crawled  in  under  the  line  of  huddled, 
heavy  wagons,  now  empty  and  dismal  look- 
ing, left  waiting  there  for  their  midnight 
loads. 

Lonely  had  suddenly  noticed  that  the  guard 
who  patrolled  this  sunniest  and  hottest  side 
of  the  tent  every  now  and  then  mopped  his 
face  with  a  huge  red  handkerchief. 

He  most  carefully  and  guardedly  watched 
for  his  chance,  —  which  came  and  went  with 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  izi 


each  mopping  ir.otion.  I  hc  next  time  the 
red  bandanna  went  up  to  the  perspiring  brow 
there  was  the  flash  of  a  hurrying  figure  between 
the  back  wagon  wheels  and  the  tent  wall,  the 
twinkle  of  a  pair  of  dusty  feet  as  this  shadow 


THE  RED  BANDANNA  WENT  Ul' 


dove  adroitly  in  under  ^  waving  canvas, 
and  no  sign  of  intrusion  or  disturbance  as  the 
uniformed  guard  walked  past  the  spot,  twirling 
his  ^tick  as  he  went. 

Lonely,  in  the  grassy  g'oom  within,  lay  still 
for  a  moment,  under  a  I  nk  of  humanity- 
packed  seats,  cautiously  looking  about  him 


122  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

for  an  opening  in  the  serried  avenues  of  feet 
before  him. 

It  took  him  but  a  short  while  to  discover 
several,  whereupon  he  did  his  best  to  make 
a  hurried  but  minute  character  study  of  his 
possible  neighbors,  in  so  far  as  such  a  study 
could  be  carried  on  with  nothing  more  than 
the  several  p&;rs  of  feet  which  dangled  before 
or  above  him. 

He  decided,  at  last,  in  favor  of  whnt  was 
a  rotund  and  comfortable-looking  country- 
woman cf  about  forty,  deciding  that  here 
was  a  pair  of  feet  on  which  he  could  pin  his 
faith  and  his  future. 

Then  he  thrust  his  russet  head  through  the 
two  green  boards  which  made  up  the  tiers  of 
seats,  and  clambered  and  twisted  nimbly  up 
into  the  vacant  place. 

The  stout  country-woman  uttered  a  startled, 
"  Lord  bless  my  soul ! "  and  peered  down  at 
Lonely,  in  not  unnatural  wonder.  The  youth 
on  his  other  side  looked  envious,  for  there  is 
no  hero  like  unto  the  hero  who  can  hook  into 
a  circus. 

Lonely  smiled  up  at  the  stout  country- 
woman with  his  most  winning  and  wistful 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  123 

smile,  shot  through  with  wordless  melancholy, 
and  was  deciding  that  all  was  well,  when  he 
noticed  one  of  the  clowns,  dressed  up  as  a 
"country  jake"  and  having  great  fiin  with  the 
later  arrivals  who  sought  for  seats,  whispering 
to  a  uniformed  guard  just  inside  the  ring,  and 
unmistakably  pointing  at  him. 

As  the  guard  made  his  way  in  through  th 
half-dozen  crowded  rows,  Lonely  promptl) 
and  inspiredly  decided  on  his  course  of  action. 

"Come  out  o'  that,  you ! "  the  guard  shouted 
angrily  at  the  boy. 

"  Me  ?  "  said  the  pensive  and  placid-looking 
Lonely. 

"  Yes,  you  !  You  stole  in  here  !  Come  on ! " 

Lonely  put  a  calm  and  trusting  face  up  to 
the  stout  woman  breathing  somewhat  heavily 
at  his  side. 

"  Why,  maw,  I  come  in  with  you,  did  n't 
I,  maw?" 

The  country-woman  breathed  still  more 
heavily,  for  a  pregnant  second  or  two,  and 
Lonely  smiled  sleepily,  although  he  knew  at 
that  very  second  that  his  fate  hung  nicely  in 
the  balance  of  blind  chance. 

But  he  had  not  altogether  erred  in  his 


124  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

choice  of  a  colleague.  She  flushed  purple,  to 
the  roots  of  her  well-frizzed  hur  (though 
whether  from  rage  or  from  mere  maidenhood 
modesty  Lonely  could  never  decide),  and  look- 
ing straight  at  the  big  guard  she  said : 

"  Why,  of  course  you  did,  Willie !  and  1  'd 
like  to  see  that  big  brute  lay  a  finger  on 
you ! 

And  there  were  sudden  erics  of"  Sit  down!" 
and  "  Down  in  front !  "  and  as  the  guard  drew 
back  and  the  end  of  the  Grand  Parade  brought 
a  sudden  influx  of  spectators,  Lonely  seized 
the  occasion  to  slip  away  and  migrate  to  more 
settled  quarters. 

He  founa  che  open-mouthed  and  entranced 
Lionel  Clarence,  huddled  up  as  close  to  the 
bass-drum  as  he  could  get,  at  one  moment 
rocking  and  weeping  tears  of  mirth  over  the 
introductory  antics  of  the  clowns  and  at  the 
next  gazing  rapturously  up  at  the  crimson- 
clad  La  Belle  Leona,  little  dreaming  that 
the  dust-stained  boy  at  his  side  had  that  very 
morning  worn  th  tights  which  now  gyrated 
and  twinkled  so  perilously  high  up  on  the 
swinging  trapezes. 

And  Lonely  even  forgot  to  tell  about  it,  as 


A  TRIUMPHAL  PROCESSION  125 

he  settled  back  triumphantly  in  his  hard  seat, 
and  under  the  heated,  odorous,  mysterious, 
enchanting  dome  of  rippling  canvas,  watched 
the  airy  and  nymph-like  CavaroUa  prance 
daintily  out  on  her  tight-rope. 


S0  nuny  Jreamt  mu$t  fail  kj.  Dear, 

So  miiny  Springs  to  Autumn  turn. 
That  you  and  I,  slow  \iiir  /^y  scar. 

The  wisdom  of  our  youth  unlearn. 
That  stranger  wisdom  when  tt  me 

y'ou  it  emed  a  golden  butterfly 
Who  all  sour  cureless  life  should  he 
A  child  of  Earth's  too  of  en  sky. 


CHAPT*  U  '/ 


In  uihuh  tht  King  lomis  into  his  awn 

LONELY  awoke,  the  morning  after  the 
Show,  dreaming  that  he  was  leading  the 
circus  procession,  on  a  white  horse  decked  out 
with  a  saddie-cioth  of  gold  and  wearing  ostrich 
plumes  above  its  ears.  He  had  just  ordered 
the  red-and-white  clown  not  to  make  faces  at 
Annie  Eliza,  when  a  piercing  scream  came 
from  that  young  woman  of  unmatched  loveli- 
ness, who  sat  on  a  white  stool  in  the  snake-cage, 
with  languid  serpents  coiled  and  twined  about 
her  spangled  hips.  For  somebody  had  fed 
chewing-tobacco  to  the  snakes,  and  they  had 
gone  mad,  and  were  squeezing  their  mistress 
to  death,  squeezing  her  until  she  grew  visibly 
longer  foot  by  foot,  before  Lonely's  very 
eyes.  The  town  constable  and  the  fire  brigade 
came  rushing  up  to  effect  her  rescue.  But 
Lonely  waved  them  aside,  and  with  one  hand 
on  his  hip,  and  amid  thunderous  cheering, 
entered  the  cage,  and  blinded  the  snakes  by 
putting  mus^d  in  their  eyes.  After  which  he 


130  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

beheaded  them,  one  by  one,  and  poured  red 
lemonade  over  the  snake-lady,  who  promptly 
came  to,  and  cried  over  him,  and  amid  more 
cheering  presented  him  with  twelve  chocolate 
mice,  which  he  was  most  woefiilly  anxious  to 
eat  before  the  sun  melted  them. 

And  all  of  this  seemed  natural  and  decorous 
to  the  wakening  Lonely,  for  he  was  invariably 
the  hero  of  his  own  dreams,  and  as  invariably 
came  off  with  flying  colors  —  except  when  he 
ate  too  many  green  things  and  thereby  suffered 
from  colic  and  nightmare.  In  fact,  Lonely  was 
debating  whether  or  not  to  accept  the  snake- 
lady's  offer  of  marriage,  when  he  fully  awoke 
and  found  himself  half  out  of  bed  and  his  mo- 
ther calling  in  to  him  that  Gilead  had  broken 
out  and  was  in  the  Gubrills'  garden  ^in. 

Such  a  dream,  Lonely  felt,  was  augury  of  an 
auspicious  day.  And,  in  fact,  he  had  scarcely 
eaten  the  second  canal  through  his  plateful 
of  corn-meal  mush — Lonely  always  ate  his 
porridge  first  into  two  canals,  and  a  lake  in 
the  middle,  just  as  he  always  made  animals 
when  he  poured  his  molasses  over  it  at  first 
—  when  some  one  whistled  and  hey-ohed  to 
him  over  the  back  fence. 


THE  KING  COMES  INTO  HIS  OWN  131 


she'll  tackle  anything  from  a  tom-cat  to  a  terrier 


This  was  a  proceeding  so  unusual  that  he 
only  half  finished  his  breakfast,  and  hurried 
forth  to  discover  Dode  Johnson  awaiting  him 
in  the  alley,  with  a  raccoon  in  a  little  lath- 
barred  dog-kennel. 

The  two  boys  looked  at  each  other;  no 
words  passed  between  them,  and  yet  each 
spoke  in  a  language  older  and  plainer  than 
words. 


132  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

«  Hello!  "  said  Dode,  timidly. 

"  Hello!  "  answered  Lonely,  tentatively. 

"  Wonderin*  if  you  wanted  to  buy  a  coon  ?  " 
the  other  boy  began. 

It  was  only  one  of  the  polite  conventions 
of  all  such  circles,  and  as  such  the  other  boy 
accepted  and  understood  it. 

"  Tame,  or  fightin'  ? "  he  asked,  casually. 

"  Fightin* !  She  '11  tackle  anything  from 
a  tom-cat  to  a  terrier !  Lend  her  to  you  if  you 
like ! " 

«  I 'm  afraid  Pop 'd  kick  —  he  says  he 's 
goin'  to  shoot  my  goat,  if  I  don't  get  shut  of 
it  pretty  soon." 

By  this  time  the  ice  had  been  broken, 
and  Dode  was  plying  Lonely  with  questions 
about  the  Show.  These  Lonely  responded  to 
magnanimously,  though  with  some  hauteur, 
for  he  began  to  see  that  things  had  changed 
for  him,  and  that  the  taint  of  the  Outlander 
was  now  wiped  away.  Yet  Lonely  could  not 
look  upon  the  owner  of  the  raccoon  as  a  re- 
presentative chief;  he  was  too  youthful  and 
small  of  stature  to  be  accepted  as  Chamboro's 
hostage  of  concession.  And  there  were  old 
scores  to  be  wiped  out. 


>^%^^'%j^i^-IilHk^l^ll^Ifl 


THE  KING  COMES  INTO  HIS  OWN  133 

It  was  a  good  two  hours  later,  when  Lonely 
was  in  the  midst  of  his  regular  Saturday  morn- 
ing task  of  washing  down  the  b^tce-shop  win- 
dows, that  the  entire  town  gang  hove  in  sight, 
jingling  the  earliest  pocket-money  of  the 
season  after  assisting,  at  the  rate  of  a  penny 
a  box,  in  gathering  the  f.rst  harvest  from  Old 
Sam  Kettlewell's  strawberry  patches. 

The  usual  spirit  of  abandon,  peculiar  to  such 
occasions,  did  not  hang  over  the  scattered  little 
berry-stained  crowd  as  it  drifted  nearer  the 
bakery.  They  drew  up  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street,  outwardly  impassive,  yet  doubly 
ominous  because  of  this  seeming  unconcern. 

Although  some  of  the  younger  boys  showed 
signs  of  yielding  to  the  eternal  allurement  of 
the  little  show-window,  they  were  promptly 
and  mutteringly  restrained  by  their  elders, 
who  ranged  themselves  along  the  sidewalk  and 
continued  to  stare  impassively  at  the  New  Boy. 
And  the  New  Boy,  to  the  careless  eye,  still 
seemed  absorbed  in  washing  down  his  window- 
panes.  Yet  none  of  the  signs  and  portents 
from  over  the  way  were  lost  on  Lonely,  whose 
heart,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  was  almost  in 
his  mouth,  while  his  knees  more  and  more 


,34  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

showed  signs  of  a  most  unseemly  and  un- 
heroic  shakiness.  For  there  was  one  thing 
which  Lonely  could  not  abide,  and  that  was 
suspense.  Once  well  in  the  heat  of  a  fight,  he 
could  rush  on  to  the  end,  blind  and  reckless; 
once  having  flung  himself  upon  the  turgid 
stream  of  opposition,  he  could  battle  exultantly 
on  to  the  last  breath.    It  was  the  stillness 
before  the  plunge,  the  squeamish  hesitation 
and  meditation  upon  the  brink,  which  was  so 
odious  to  his  young  soul.  To  this,  later  in 
life,  might  indeed  be  traced  many  of  his  mis- 
fortunes, litt' :  and  big. 

But  still  there  was  no  advance  from  the 
gang,  now  not  thirty  paces  away.  There  re- 
mained to  Lonely  only  one  tattered  shred  of 
consolation,  through  all  that  miserable  length 
of  suspense.  That  was  the  consciousness  that 
he  had  at  last  shown  himself  to  be  worthy  of 
their  envy  and  their  steel.  He  knew  that  now 
he  could  get  all  the  fighting  he  wanted. 

But  he  also  knew  that  another  minute  of 
this  sort  of  suspense  and  uncertainty  would 
surely  send  him  bolting  into  the  little  bake- 
shop,  a  coward  and  a  fugitive. 

So  he  did  what  seemed  a  most  heroic  thing, 


THE  KING  COMES  INTO  HIS  OWN  135 

but  what  was,  at  heart,  the  very  flowering  of 
arrant  cowardice,  springing  as  it  did  from  his 
sheer  terror  of  all  indetermination. 

He  turned,  and  with  a  passionate  little 
swear-word,  let  fly  his  rubber  window-cleaner, 
straight  into  the  thick  of  the  storm-cloud 
which  refused  to  let  forth  its  bolt  on  him. 

There  was  a  second  of  nimble  scrambling 
aside,  and  the  iron-shod  rubber  hit  with 
a  resounding  thud  on  the  fence-boards  be- 
yond. 

Then  the  storm-cloud  flashed  forth  its 
lightning.  This  it  did  in  the  form  of  Piggie 
Brennan,  for  two  long  years  the  leader  of  the 
town  gang,  the  well-tested  and  duly  accredited 
king  and  chief  of  his  little  tribe. 

Being  already  coatless,  he  paid  sufficient 
tribute  to  tradition  by  flinging  down  his  well- 
frayed  straw  hat.,  and  walking  directly  and  sav- 
agely over  to  where  Lonely  awaited  his  coming. 
It  was  plain  that  this  was  not  to  be  the  mere 
shuffle  and  bluster  of  the  every-day  boy  fight 

"  I  kin  lick  you !  "  said  Piggie,  with  pro- 
found and  purposeful  conviction. 

"Then  get  at  it!  "  cried  l.oncly,  as  he  put 
up  his  guard  and  wondered  whether  or  not  the 


136 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


enemy,  already  shod  against  the  stubble  and 
thistles  of  berry-picking,  would  try  kicking. 

The  boys  swarmed  across  the  street,  and 
circled  in  about  the  two  squared-up  opponents. 
Piggie  Brennan  had  the  advantage  of  a  longer 
reach,  and  a  good  twenty  pounds  in  weight, 
but  there  had  been  enough  whispering  about 
as  to  the  circus  prowess  and  gymnastic  leats 
of  the  New  Boy  to  make  the  outcome  suffi- 
ciently uncertain. 

In  the  mean  time,  and  after  a  fashion  quite 
unknown  to  the  youth  of  Chamboro,  I  .onely 
had  begun  dancing  and  jumping  agilely  round 
and  round  the  heavier  Piggie,  very  much  as 
a  delirious  bantam  cock  might.  In  feet  Piggie 
was  just  marveling  at  this  performance,  hith- 
erto unknown  to  him,  when  he  felt  a  sudden 
sting  between  the  eyes,  and  for  the  first  time 
realized  that  he  had  been  hit. 

This  caused  no  consternation  among  his 
followers,  for  the  amount  of  punishment  which 
the  rotund  Piggie  could  stand  had  long  since 
become  proverbial.  Piggie  only  grunted  his 
surprise,  swung  about,  and  a  moment  later  the 

fight  had  begun. 

Now,  Lonely  had  never  earned  the  name 


THE  KING  COMES  INTO  HIS  OWN  137 

of  a  born  fighter,  —  a  fact  which  earlier  in  his 
career  had  been  a  source  of  much  disappoint- 
ment and  chagrin  to  his  belligerent  father. 


I  KIN  l  ie  K  YOU  ! 


Timothy  O'Malley.  Indeed,  before  Lonely 
had  even  emerged  from  the  petticoat  to  the 
knickerbocker  era  his  father,  especially  during 
a  period  of  mild  inebriation,  had  played  at 


LONELY  O'MALi-KY 

fisticutFs  with  him,  not  only  teaching  him  how 
to  feint,  and  guard,  and  uppercut,  and  deliver 
half-arm  jabs,  but  also  giving  him  copious  and 
exhaustive  lessons  in  how  to  stand  punish- 
ment as  an  O'Malley  ought.  These  lessons 
in  time  became  so  trying  to  the  pupil  that  his 
frightened  mother  often  hid  the  willing  enough 
Lonely  under  the  bed,  and  wept  in  secret  on 
those  unhappy  days  when  he  was  found  and 
dragged  forth.  Nor  did  the  boy  care  for  fight- 
ing; the  only  thing  that  appealed  to  him  was  the 
intoxicating  sense  of  delight  and  pride  which 
crept  through  him,  like  wine,  or  the  very  ichor 
of  the  gods,  when  he  found  hirr^elf  face  to 
face  with  success.  No  sop  was  too  small  for 
his  Cerberus  of  self-glory,  so  that  when  he  did 
fight  he  liked  best  to  fight  before  a  crowd, 
effecting,  if  possible,  a  dramatic  denouement 
and  an  even  more  dazzling  finale.  And  no- 
thing, of  course,  could  be  further  removed  than 
this  from  true  heroism.  Added  to  this.  Lonely 
was  the  possessor  of  a  sadly  ungovernable  tem- 
per, when  pressed  beyond  certain  bounds,  and, 
what  was  even  worse,  he  had  long  fed  on  the 
pomp  and  glory  of  leadership  in  his  old-time 
village  of  Cowansburg. 


THE  KING  COMtS  INTO  HIS  OWN  139 

"  Does  kickin'  go  ? "  Piggie  breathlessly  de- 
manded of  his  following,  as  he  guarded  and 
wheeled  about  after  the  still  gyrating  Lonely. 

"Nope,"  said  Redney  McWillianis  for  the 
crowd,  seeing  that  the  New  Boy  was  bare- 
footed. One  uay  earlier  in  his  career,  and 
Lonely  would  never  have  been  treated  with  this 
untoward  consideration.  But  a  boy  who  had 
been  a  part  of  the  Circus,  for  even  an  hour, 
was  something  to  take  seriously. 

Lonely  realized  that  such  a  decision  on  so 
mooted  a  point  was  a  favor  to  him,  —  and  it 
was  a  feather  in  his  cap  of  vanity. 

"  Let  him  kick,  the  saphead !  I  can  lick 
him,  kickin'  and  all !  "  he  cried,  magnificently, 
as  he  saw  the  heavy  blows  of  Piggie  fall  short 
of  his  own  alert  little  back-jerks. 

Piggie's  answer  to  this  airy  concession  was 
a  prompt  and  stinging  kick  on  the  shin-bone, 
for  as  a  kicker  the  butcher's  son  was  a  finished 
artist.  The  sharp  pain  of  this  brought  the  New 
Boy  to  his  senses.  He  gave  over  his  bantam- 
cock  antics,  and  closed  hotlv  in  on  his  adver- 
sary.  Then  the  fight  began  in  dead  earnest. 

But  over  this  old  and  unlovely  scene  of  two 
young  savages  pounding  and  tearing  at  one 


140         LONELY  O'MALLEY 


another  tooth  and  nail  let  us  draw  the  curtain. 
All  boyhood,  it  is  true,  is  sternly  competitive ; 
all  boyhood  is  an  eternal  arena  for  the  test- 
ing of  muscle  and  wit.   But  life's  sternest 

battles,  alas,  are  not  fought  with  fists.  So  why 
describe  the  sparring  and  dodging  and  rolling 
and  twisting,  the  gasping  and  puffing  and 

writhing  ? 

Suffice  it  to  record  that  Lonely,  feeling  still 
confident  of  his  powers,  beheld  Annie  Kliza 
emerge  timidly  from  her  gate,  and  fearing  the 
fray  might  end  before  her  arrival  on  the  field 
of  action,  held  off  for  a  temporizing  moment 
or  two.  His  reward  for  this  was  a  prodigious 
punch  on  the  nose,  which,  naturally  enough, 
started  that  organ  bleeding  profusely,  and 
through  the  tears  that  it  brought  to  his  eyes, 
I  sadly  interfered  with  his  sight.  This  fact  Pig- 

gie  took  immediate  advantage  of,  with  three 
quickly  repeated  home-thrusts.  Lonely,  under 
these,  felt  his  cold,  pitiless  purpose  suddenly 
j,  buried  beneath  a  shower  of  falling  stars.  He 

I  struck  out  blindly  and  wildly  ;  he  felt  the  blows 

i  still  raining  mercilessly  in  on  him  ;  he  made  a 

'  last  grim  effort  to  land  one  of  his  often-vaunted 

Cowansburg  upper-cuts,  utterly  failed  in  this, 

^, 

I' 


THE  KING  COMES  INTO  HIS  OWN  141 

leaving  an  opening  which  even  the  well-winded 
Piggie  could  not  resist.  The  next  moment, con- 
sumed by  a  sudden  passion  to  escape,  to  collect 
his  wits  and  gather  his  wind  once  more,  Lonely 
turned  and  fled,  — fled  incontinently  to  the 
bake-shop  door,  beaten,  bleeding,  humiliated, 
chased  in  over  his  own  threshold  by  the  sur- 
prised and  exultant  Fig^ie  Brennan. 

Lonely 's  flour-covered  father,  with  a  great 
pan  of  loaves  on  his  shoulder,  came  in  from 
the  bake-oven  just  as  his  offspring  came  in 
from  the  street. 

Blood  strt":  !  ^•d  from  the  boy's  discoloml 
and  swollen  nose  ;  his  body  was  convulsed  with 
fierce  and  passionate  little  sobs. 

"And  what's  the  meanin'  o'  this?"  cried 
Lonely's  father,  as  he  eyed  his  offspring,  coldly, 
up  and  down. 

"That  b — big  b  —  b  —  bully  out  there 
licked  me !  "  wailed  Lonely,  trying  in  vain  to 
stanch  the  ruddy  flow  which  was  making  sad 
havoc  of  his  blue  checked  shirt. 

"Who  — what  bully?"  cried  Timothy 
O'Malley,  dangerously,  coming  out  of  the 
gloom  toward  the  front  of  the  shop. 

"  Piggie  Brennan  —  that  —  that  great  big 


142  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

fat  bov  there!"  sobbed  the  defeated  warrior, 
quakingly  pointing  out  the  victcM*. 

"That  little  rent  —  that  mtaerable  under- 
sized puddin'-head  ?  Now  you  get  out  and 
lick  the  daylight  out  o'  that  kid»  or  1  '11  lick 
the  daylight  out  o'  you  !  " 

«  I  can't  do  it.  Pop  ! "  wailed  the  New  Boy, 
miserably. 

"  Git  at  him,  or  I  '11  whale  the  life  out  o* 

you  ! 

He  opened  the  door,  and  reached  down,  s  i 
a  rage,  for  his  oven  poker. 

Lonely  shot  through  the  door,  as  fi  .'n 
a  cannon,  and  all  but  knocked  Annie  l-h/a 
over  as  he  went.  It  so  happened  that  Piggie 
was  minutely  and  proudly  explaining  just 
how  he  had  effect  the  fi^  blow,  when  the 
sheer  terror-bom  momentttm  Lonely 's 
flying  body  caught  him  im^j  in  ti^  pit  ihr 
stomach. 

It  wsHi  SO  unlooked-for  so  undreamei  * 
that  the  crowd  droppt    I  ck  aghast.  Evt 
Piggie's  jaw  fell  at  the  sig'^'  of  t     dxmm  and 
gory  and  desperate  face  be   re  hi 

"  I 'm  goin'  to  kill  v  no\<.  ely 
screamed  at  him,  and  in  tnt  vc  i  of 


thf;  king  CI)  .)  !     OWN  14 J 

ft'i  Jespa  •.'  flu  Ills  vveary  l  ay  upon  the 
stiP    pen-riu. chili  ictor. 

Fh  -  N  Boy  paused  only  long  enough  i 
iulow  th«  Annie  Eliza  was  looking  on,  to  r. 


THAT  BIG  BULLY  OUT  THERE  LICKED  ME 


member  that  his  father  was  watching  him  from 
the  shop-window,  to  warn  bunself  that  tikis  was 
his  last  and  only  chance. 

Piggie  J  romptly  and  effectively  swung  out 
with  his  long  right  arm,  but  Lonely  took  the 


144  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

blow  with  joy,  and  jumped  in  for  more,  half 
crooning  and  half  wailing  as  he  fought. 

It  was  a  fight  the  like  of  which  had  never 
been  witnessed  in  all  Chamboro  before.'  It 
went  down  in  the  annals  of  the  town,  along 
with  the  drowning  accidents,  and  the  big  fire, 
and  the  wrecking  of  the  Minnie  Steincron  the 
bridge  abutment. 

It  lasted  until  thegaspingand  still  astounded 
Piggie  Brennan  found  himself  with  only  one 
eye  to  see  out  of,  with  a  loose  tooth  and  a 
grotesquely  swollen  lip,  with  a  sore  body  and 
a  swimming  head,  held  determinedly  down  in 
the  street-dust  while  a  shrill  and  altogether 
insane  young  voice  cried  over  him,  — 

•  That  our  poor  hero  had,  alas,  a  taint  of  venality  in  his 
veins  u  funher  borne  out  by  the  ftnjily  tradition  of  a  fight 
of  his,  years  before,  with  an  aggresnve  and  overbearing 

country  cousin,  who,  indeed,  pommelled  Lonely  unmerci- 
fully. The  defeated  one,  however,  on  being  offered  twenty- 
five  cents  and  half  a  watermelon  by  a  purposeful  maiden  aunt, 
returned  to  the  fray,  as  in  the  Piggie  Brennan  encounter, 
and  soundly  and  unexpectedly  trounced  the  bully.  The 
only  thing  Lonely  remembered,  or  cared  to  remember, 
about  it,  was  that  he  ate  the  half-watermelon,  and  strutted 
around  the  rest  of  the  morning  with  the  shell  of  it  on  his 
head. 


THE  KING  COMES  INTO  HIS  OWN  145 

"  Had  enough  ?  'Nough  ?  "  —  punctuating 
each  query  with  a  too  well-directed  fist. 

And  when  Piggie,  in  a  muffled  and  gasping 
voice,  confessed  that  he  had  had  enough,  Lionel 
Clarence,  who  had  arrived  on  the  scene  just  in 
time  to  see  the  finishing  stroke,  being  eager  to 
exhibit  his  recently  acquired  prowess,  auda- 
ciously challenged  Piggie  himself,  while  Lonely 
continued  to  limp  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
speechless  gang,shrilly  and  drunkenly  demand- 
ing that  some  one  step  forth  and  fight  with  him. 

This  no  one  seemed  willing  to  do,  even 
after  Lonely's  individual  challenges,  carefully 
repeated  up  and  down  the  line.  So  the  New 
Boy  stepped  to  the  sidewalk,  and  turned  to  his 
new-made  fiefs  with  a  sudden  grandly  impa- 
tient sweep  of  the  arm. 

"Now  move  on,  you  kids,  while  I  finish  my 
job  here!" 

At  which  oflP-hand  yet  dramatic  climax  the 
scattered  little  cluster  of  boys  moved  oflF 
and  melted  away,  while  Annie  Kli/a  dutifully 
brought  back  Lonely  his  rubber  window- 
cleaner.  That  trembling  youth,  with  a  smeared 
but  happy  grin  through  the  glass  at  his  not 
altogether  displeased  parent,  waited  only  for 


146  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


solitude  before  escaping  to  the  cool  assui^- 
ment  of  the  back-yard  pump. 

Yet  history  would  be  false  to  record  thi?  as 
the  end  of  the  combat.  For  Piggie's  wounds 
rankled  in  his  memory,  and  two  days  later,  as 
he  stood  in  the  doorway  of  his  father's  meat- 
shop,  he  beheld  Lonely  weighed  down  with  a 
clothes-basket  heaped  with  bread,  —  the  faith- 
ful Plato  having  developed  an  unlooked-for 
attack  of  the  blind  staggers. 

Piggie  accepted  this  as  the  opportunity  of 
a  lifetime,  and  as  the  baker's  son  walked  by 
in  his  innocent  and  unsuspecting  pride  of 
superiority,  Piggie,  in  the  security  of  his  own 
home  circle,  swung  vigorously  out  and  soundly 
kicked  his  late  conqueror. 

Lonely  dropped  the  basket,  and  made  for 
his  assailant.  That  youth,  who  had  felt  so 
well  protected  by  the  shadowing  wing  of  the 
parental  roof,  fled  into  the  store.  It  so  chanced 
that  his  father  was  busy  in  the  refrigerator,  at 
the  moment,  though  it  is  doubtful  if  even  the 
elder  Brennan  could  have  stopped  Lonely's 
fiery  pursuit.  Seeing  himself  helpless  there, 
Pi^e  bolted  for  the  stairway  which  led  up  to 
the  Brennan  place  of  residence,  immediately 


THE  KING  COMES  INTO  HIS  OWN  147 

above  the  shop.  Up  these  stairs  Lonely  still 
pursued  the  fleeing  Figgie,  through  the  dining- 
room,  and  into  Mrs.  Brennan's  bedroom, 
where  the  fugitive  was  finally  seized  ofi  and 


INNOCFNT  AND  UNSUSI'F.CTlNt; 


soundly  pommelled,  after  which  he  was  led 
downstairs  by  the  forelock  of  his  tumbled  and 


148  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

frowsled  hair,  where  he  was  not  only  made  to 
gather  up  the  scattered  loaves  of  bread,  but 
was  ordered  to  purloin  from  the  parental  coun- 
ter a  generous  slice  of  Bologna  sausage,  which 
Lonely  consumed  placidly  and  with  much  zest, 
as  he  made  his  rounds. 

In  fact,  it  must  be  confessed  that  Piggie 
through  this  incident  became  the  victim  of 
continuous  and  ever-increasing  extortion,  at 
the  hands  of  Lonely  and  Lionel  Clarence  alike, 
until  Mr.  Sampson,  looking  into  the  matter  of 
his  son's  too  frequently  occurring  dietetic  dis- 
turbances, wrung  from  the  culprit  a  complete 
confession,  and  later  had  a  serious  talk  with 
Butcher  Brennan  on  the  matter. 

And  in  this  ironically  and  secretly  igno- 
minious way  the  King  of  Cowansburg  came 
into  his  own  once  more,  from  that  day  on  being 
reckoned,  either  openly  or  tacitly,  as  the  leader 
of  the  town  gang. 


//  strms  so  long  ago  that  zve 

Across  the  years  fur  get. 
And  waif,  anJ  still  remember  not 

So  long  i/go,  anil  sft 
Across  those  out  Ian  J  April  hills 

tenth's  thousand  void  s  seem 
To  eall  still  past  the  bars  of  Birth, 

The  barriers  of  Dream  ! 


I 

i 


CHAPTER  VI 


In  which  Uantl  Qartnct  makes  his  tscapt 

IBELIKVE  there  is  something  ^00^  about 
that  boy ! "  said  Mrs.  Sampson,  with  con- 
viction. 

"  He 's  the  most  finished  type  of  pagan  I 
ever  clapped  eyes  on  !  "  answered  the  Reverend 
Ezra  Sampson,  with  equal  conviction. 

"  But  after  all,  the  boy's  heart 's  in  the 
right  place,"  protested  the  mother. 

Which  can  seldom  be  said  of  his  body ! 
Mehetabel  Wilkins  tells  me  that  he  comes  and 
tortures  her  daily,  hanging  by  his  toes  fi-om  the 
big  maple  in  front  of  her  house.' 

"  But  what  harm  does  that  do  Meheta- 
bel ? 

"  It 's  all  the  boy's  artfully  contrived  punish- 
ment, for  impounding  his  goat.  She  tells  me 
that  it 's  slowly  driving  her  crazy,  the  awful 
sight  of  that  boy  swinging  up  there  by  his  two 
toes,  head  down.  She  even  offered  him  a  fish- 
ing-pole of  split  bamboo  and  a  custard  pie,  if 
he  would  stop." 


isa  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"  Yes,  he  is  pagan ! "  sighed  the  mother. 

"  And  always  will  be,"  added  the  Preacher, 
remembering  certain  shrugs  and  gestures  with 
which  Lonely  had  resented  a  late  attempt  at 

timely  guidance  and  advice. 

"I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  know  what 
will  grow  in  that  weed-garden  of  idleness 
twenty  years  from  now  !  "  said  the  Preacher's 
wife.  And  she  sighed  again. 

"  He 's  so  like  a  wild  animal,  —  ts  soon  as 
he  sees  a  door  close  on  him  he  starts  to  fret 
and  fidget,"  she  went  on. 

"  Yes,  and  his  barbarian  young  soul  hates 
restraint  just  the  same  as  his  bartMrian  young 
body  ! "  added  the  man  of  the  cloth.  Only  f  h  t 
morning  Mrs.  Sampson  and  Lonely  had  been 
closeted  together  in  the  sewing-room;  there 
she  had  made  a  patient  and  serious  effort  to 
get  somewhere  near  the  heart  of  the  abashed 
boy.  Yet  when  any  approach  was  made  to  the 
matter  of  his  general  morality  and  the  higher 
life  of  the  spirit,  Lonely  only  squirmed  and 
squinted,  or  hunched  up  one  shoulder  and 
listened  meekly  to  the  end.  So  Mrs.  Sampson 
had  been  forced  to  go  back  to  the  original 
object  of  the  conversation,  the  unsatisfactory 


LIONEL  CLARENCE  ESCAPES  153 

condition  of  Lionel  Clarence's  health  and  his 
sudden  untoward  fretfulness.  Old  Doctor 
Ridley,  in  fact,  had  suggested  that  Lionel 
Clarence  be  taken  away  from  his  books  for' 
a  few  months,  and  be  made  to  knock  around 
and  rough  it  a  bit.  And  surely,  thought  Mrs. 
Sampson,  as  she  put  the  reluctant  Lonely 
through  his  catechism,  here  was  a  child  who 
held  the  key  to  rough  and  rugged  health. 

"  I  could  do  something  with  him,  mebbe," 
confessed  Lonely,  with  airy  condescension, 
"  if  you 'd  only  get  them  curls  o'  his  cut 
off!" 

"And  you  would  try  to  stand  an  example 
to  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  Lonely,  eagerly.  "  I  'd  learn 
him  tumblin*  and  slack-wire  work  in  less  'n  a 
week ! " 

"  Do  you  still  smoke,  Lonely  ?  " 

"'Most  every  day,"  answered  the  boy, 
truthfully.  "Got  to  do  it,  swimmin*-time,  to 
keep  down  fever  and  ague !  " 

"  But  surely  that  is  bad  for  you  ? " 

"Yep,  cane  is  —  turns  your  blood  into 
water !  I  go  in  for  grapevine,  mostly,  with 
punk  for  swimmin'  days !  " 


/ 


154  LONELY  (yMALLFY 

Once  more  the  mother  of  Lionel  Clarence 

J      ,^  ^    sighed  helplessly. 

"  Do  you 
fight?" 

"  I 've  quit 
fightin',  in  this 
town  !  "  an- 
swered Lonely, 
the  scarred  and 
victorious,  an 
Alexander  with 
no  more  worlds 
to  conquer. 

And  al- 
though the 
outcome  of 
their  private 
talk  was  somewhat  uncer- 
tain, and  the  most  that  she 
could  report  to  her  hus- 
band was  "  That  he  at  least 
lives  up  to  his  barbarian 
code,"  she  finally  decided 
that  Lionel  Clarence 
should  be  handed  over  to 
the  temporal  care  of  Lonely,  shot  down  his  ^larry 


LIONEL  CLARENCE  ESCAPES  155 


The  New  Boy  entered  into  his  tutorship 
with  such  pride  and  enthusiasm  that  Lionel 
Clarence's  mother  still  again  protested  there 
was  something  good  about  the  boy,  and  in  her 
gratitude  of  heart  overfed  him  on  jelly-roll 
and  ginger  cookies. 

Her  first  qualm  of  doubt  came  unexpect- 
edly, a  day  or  two  later,  when  she  was  quietly 
and  busily  picking  green  currants  for  a  deep- 
river  pie. 

Seeing  an  unexpected  stir  and  movement 
at  the  back  of  the  garden,  she  peered  circum- 
spectly through  the  bush,  and  there  beheld 
Lonely,  with  drawn  bow  and  arrow,  calmly 
stalking  one  of  her  Silver  Dorking  hens.  She 
saw  him  shadow  the  mildly  protesting  fowl 
from  bush  to  bush,  and  when  at  last  a  favor- 
able chance  offered,  deliberately  take  aim  and 
shoot  down  his  quarry.  Before  she  could  quite 
recover  from  her  astonishment,  the  boy  had 
seized  the  stunned  chicken,  promptly  wrung 
its  neck,  and  disappeared  with  it,  through 
the  hole  in  the  back  fence.  That  Lionel  Clar- 
ence later  joined  in  the  dance  about  the  pot, 
and  made  away  with  more  than  half  of  the 
carcass,  and  vowed  it  was  the  finest  chicken 


iS6  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


he  had  ever  eaten,  were  facts  which,  naturally 
enough,  were  never  revealed  to  Mrs.  Sampson. 

Lionel  Clarence,  however,  was  not  destined 
to  remain  long  under  the  dulMout  guardian- 
ship of  Loficly  O'Malley.  His  fretfiilness 
increased,  his  usually  abnormal  appetite  ftW 
away,  he  complained  of  headache  and  sore 
throat,  and  when  old  Doctor  Ridley  was  fin- 
ally sent  for  it  was  only  too  plain  to  that 
assuager  of  Chamboro's  ills  that  the  boy  was 
suffering  from  a  well-developed  attack  of 
measles. 

Lionel  Clarence's  Grandmother  Horton  was 
hurriedly  sent  for,  and  came  post-haste  to 
Chamboro  to  help  in  the  nursing.  The  house 
was  kept  dark  and  quiet,  and  Lonely,  pend- 
ing the  closing  of  school  for  the  summer  holi- 
days, found  this  second  solitude  weigh  heavily 
on  his  exuberant  young  soul. 

The  newly  arrived  grandmother,  indeed, 
would  not  even  allow  Lonely  on  the  premises, 
and  daily  reported  that  Lionel  Clarence's  fever 
was  worse,  and  flurried  and  worried  about, 
drawing  blinds,  and  issuing  orders,  and  demand- 
ing silence.  And  Lionel,  imprisoned  in  his 
hot  and  stuffy  little  room,  looked  petulantly 


LIONEL  CLARENCK  ESCAPES  157 

out  at  the  dreamy  blue  sky,  and  heard  the 
play-cries  and  the  street  sounds,  and  hunted 
for  cool  spots  on  his  pillow,  and  whined  and 
cried  a  great  deal,  and  devoutly  wished  that 
after  all  he  had  r'n  off  with  the  circus  and 
been  a  pink  lemon-idc  rnitn. 

It  was  a  hot  ar '  cloudless  day  in  June. 
The  tree-tops  stirred  laziiy,  the  bees  droned 
murmurously  about  Chamboro's  empty  gar- 
dens, the  shadows  stood  flat  and  black  on  the 
almost  deserted  streets  of  the  little  town. 

Lonely  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  se- 
curely tied  Shivers,  so  as  not  to  be  followed, 
and  then,  making  a  wide  detour,  noiselessly 
and  circumspectly  entered  the  Sampson  gar- 
den b\  way  of  the  well-known  hole  in  the 
back  fence. 

Under  the  shadow  of  the  pear-tree  he 
whistled  three  times.  Receiving  no  answer  to 
this  summons,  he  gave  vent  to  a  muffled  owl- 
hoot,  pregnant,  stirring,  unmistakable. 

A  moment  later  a  languid  head  was  thrust 
out  of  a  carefully  curtained  window,  and 
Lionel  Clarence  was  whistling  down  at  him, 
weakly  but  gleefully.   He  was  in  his  white 


158  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

night-gown,  and  there  was  an  ice-bag  bound 
about  his  flushed  forehead. 

"Sick?"  asked  Lonely,  with  fine  superfluity. 

"Sick  o*  staying  cooped  up  here,"  said 
Lionel  Clarence,  wrathfolly,  with  considerably 
more  energy  than  Lonely  had  looked  for. 

Now  one  of  the  keenest  disappointments  of 
Lonely's  life  had  always  been  the  feet  that  he 
was  not  afliicted  with  some  great  and  incurable 
malady.'  During  all  the  first  part  of  the  small- 
fruit  season  he  firmly  argued  with  himself 
that  he  had  consumption,  often  not  being  able 
to  take  a  deep  breath  without  pain,  and  often 
feeling  with  gratified  concern  about  what  he 
deemed  the  lobe  of  his  left  lung,  a  good  two 
inches  below  the  waist-line.  At  other  times, 
especially  after  swallowing  countless  cherry- 
stones for  the  delectation  of  two  entranced 
country  cousins,  he  decided  that  his  threatened 
ailment  was  one  of  the  heart,  and  against  the 

■  Once,  on  going  to  visit  his  Grandmother  Lomely  for 
the  first  time,  he  had  sought  to  overcome  this  drawback  by 
walking  with  a  persistent  and  pathetic  limp,  for  one  whole 
week  of  dissimulation  wantonly  and  patnonately  adhe  ing 
to  the  statement  that  he  had  been  a  lifelong  luflerer  from 
hip  disease. 


LIONEL  CLARENCE  ESCAPES  159 


day  of  his  sudden  and  untimely  death  pre- 
pared a  long  and  elaborate  list  of  benefactions, 
disposing  of  everything  from  his  new  inven- 
tion for  making  clay  marbles '  to  a  box-kite 

•  The  following  is  a  partial  list  of  Lonely 's  several  in- 
veiituMu: 

An  improved  water-wheel,  to  be  used  for  operating 

churns,  sewing-machines,  etc.  The  power  was  usually 
carried  in  through  an  open  window,  by  means  of  a  light 
clothes-line,  running  rather  spasmodically  over  many  spool- 
pulleys.  When  not  atuched  to  anything,  both  water-wheel 
and  power-line  and  spool-pulleys  spun  and  rattled  away 
bravely  enough;  but  the  invention  was  never  seriously 
adopted  by  purblindly  conservative  grown-ups,  so  was  di- 
verted to  routing  a  home-made  wind-mill  which  otherwise 
refiised  to  turn  without  the  aid  of  water  and  wind  com- 
taned.  A  pair  of  flannel  shoes  for  Stumpy,  Annie  Eli/a's 
lame  hen,  deprived  of  her  toes  through  frost-bite.  While 
usually  placid  and  con.panionable,  Stumpy,  when  shod,  un- 
deviatingly  hid  in  the  lilac  boshes  and  sulked. 

An  Eolipile  motor,  made  of  two  oil-cans  mounted  on 
trunnions,  with  a  small  boiler  attached.  Though  of  no  great 
industrial  value,  Lonely  took  the  greatest  pride  in  this  little 
engine,  in  which  he  imagined  lay  embodied  some  key  to  the 
refrnmation  of  all  steam  power.  His  schtow  knew  no  bounds, 
acccHxlingly,  when  he  discovered  that  a  scribe  named  Hero 
of  Alexandria  had  minutely  described  his  engine,  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  before  the  Christian  Era. 

A  dog-harness  and  cukivator,  to  expedite  the  hoeing  and 
weeding  of  kitchen-gardens,  etc.  As  no  dogs  sufficiendy 


i6o  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 


which  had  been  reputed  to  be  the  strongest 
"  puller  "  in  all  Chamboro. 

So  he  gazed  up  at  Lionel  Clarence  envi- 

amenable  to  discipline  could  ever  be  found,  to  operate  this 
really  excellent  im^ement,  it  fell  into  disuse. 

An  ini|»oved  canmm,  made  of  brass  pumpn^Under, 
mounted  on  two  barrow-wheels.  Powder  sufficient  for  its 
proper  loading  and  discharge  had  never  been  secured. 

A  new  and  greatly  improved  method  of  making  Angle- 
Worm  Oil  —  loi%  looked  ^lonudwntostefiectuallulmcant 
for  all  intending  circus  perdmaen.  Itt  only  drawbKk  was 
its  over-pungent  odor. 

An  automatic  "bite-announcer"  (for  use  while  fishing 
fiw  mud-cat),  made  of  an  dd  toftiMi  spring,  with  a  slight 
bell  attached.  When  stuck  upri|^t  is  a  stump  or  dock-crack, 
it  warns  the  most  sleepy-lieaded  fiiAernMB  just  whm  to 
pull  in  his  line. 

A  rotating  icitc-messenger. 

A  new  lbrm(^bttliet-mouId,  especially  adapted  for  Indian 
war6re. 

A  new  and  improved  method  of  fastening  on  Indian 
Feathers  —  of  naturally  restricted  commercial  value. 

And  I»t,  but  by  no  means  least,  a  Flying-Machine, 
made  of  huabm  fishof^pales,  unrtwelia  canet,  many  old 
linen  sheets,  numbo-less  strings  and  pulleys  and  springs,  and 
always  awaiting  just  one  last  pulley  or  brace  or  bolt  to  be 
finished  and  perfect.  It  seems  scarcely  necessary  to  add 
tliat  this  FIjn^-MKtoie  and  itt  over-sanguine  maker  had 
many  falls  in  eelMH^  mea^  from  the  t<^  of  stnw-stacks 
and  stables. 


LIONEL  CLARENCE  ESCAPES  i6i 


ously,  wondering  why  luck  should  be  so  against 
him. 

"  Been  having  any  fiin? "  asked  the  patient, 
wistfully. 

"Swimmin'^and  all  that !"  answered  Lonely. 

Lionel  Clarence  made  a  clicking  sound,  with 
his  tongue  i^inst  the  roof  his  mouth,  which 
was  meant  to  convey  his  poignant  apprecia- 
tion of  such  joys,  as  well  as  his  regret  tkm. 
they  were  now  beyond  his  reach. 

He  leaned  further  out  of  the  window,  pull- 
ing off  the  ice-bag  as  he  looked  down. 

"  S'pose  you  gettin'  lots  of  jelly  and  stuff?  " 
asked  Lonely,  cheeringly. 

The  patient  shook  his  head  sorri)wfully. 

"  They  're  half  starving  me  up  here  !  "  he 
declared,  with  rising  wrath. 

Lonely  twjk  his  turn  at  hesKi-wagging,  sym- 
{Mthettcally. 

"  And  shut  up  in  this  poke  of  a  rcwrn  all 
day !  "  lamented  the  invalid. 

**  You  dmA*t  look  so  sick !  "  said  Lonely. 

"  1  don't  believe  I  am  !  "  said  Lionel  Clar- 
ence, slowly,  and  with  some  mysterious  in- 
ward illumination. 

He  wriggled  still  further  out  into  the  air  of 


i62  LCWELY  O'MALLEY 

freedom,  looked  cautiously  about  him,  and 
then  said  with  great  determination: 

"  I 'm  going  to  hook  away  from  here !  I 'm 
all  hot  and  sticky  and  itchy,  and  / 'm  going  to 
have  a  swim  !  " 

The  other  boy  half-heartedly  warned  him 
back,  yet,  even  while  telling  him  it  was 
a  pretty  bad  thing  to  be  sick,  enlargii^  vividly 
and  enthusiastically  on  the  heautifel  warmth 
of  the  water  of  late,  and  the  new  spring- 
board the  gang  had  put  up  over  the  diving- 
hole. 

The  natural  outcome  of  their  talk  was  that 
Lonely  meekly  obeyed  Lionel  Clarence's  reck- 
less and  imperious  order  to  put  the  ladder  up 
to  the  window,  and  while  this  was  being  done 
he  himself  was  poking  a  pair  of  wobbly  legs 
into  his  Sunday  velvet  trousers. 

Then  he  rolled  up  the  bed-rug,  and,  along 
with  one  of  the  pillows,  thrust  k  artfiilly  down 
between  the  sheets,  so  ihm  when  covered  at 
the  lop  with  a  handkerchief  and  ice-bag,  it 
would  take  a  second  glance  to  discover  that 
the  muffled  bundle  was  really  a  sleeping 
patient. 

This  done,  he  crept  carefully  down  the 


LIONEL  CLARENCE  ESCAPES  163 

ladder,  which  was  later  restored  to  its  place  by 
the  driving-shed,  and  in  two  minutes  more  was 
following  closely  on  Lonely's  heels  in  a  sk«rt 
cut  for  the  swimming-hole. 

The  breeze  had  died  down,  the  noonday 
sun  was  at  its  hottest,  the  river  lay  shadowy 
and  limpid  and  alluring.  Lonely's  heels  had 
already  flashed  up  in  the  air  and  disappeared 
into  the  quiet  depths  just  under  the  new  div- 
ing-board, and  the  feci  of  the  shallower  water 
to  Lionel  Clarence's  tentative  foot  was  both 
mildly  cool  and  cogently  alluring. 

"Do  you  think  I  'd  better,  Lonely?"  he 
asked,  with  his  mind  already  made  up.  The 
other  boy  shook  the  water  from  Ills  russet 
hair,  just  emerged  from  Umt^mg  bo<«^, 
grunted,  turned  easily  on  his  btck,  and  #M«ttf 
there  luxuriously,  now  and  ^n  emitting  dmn 
between  his  pursed-up  lips  a  litde  fountain-like 
jet  of  sparkling  water. 

"  Do  you  think  I 'd  better  risk  it  ?  "  repeated 
Lionel  Clarence,  already  up  to  his  knees. 

"  'Course;  come  on  mav  as  well  have  the 
game  as  the  name,  now  vou 're  here!"  anil 
Lonely  lav  there  motionless,  blinking  placidly 
up  at  the  strong  sunlight. 


i64  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

The  sick  boy  took  his  «  duck  "  with  a  gasp, 
recovered  his  balance,  and  struck  out  for  raid- 
stream  with  that  loose-jointed  vigor  peculiar 

to  the  beginner. 

"  Is  nt  it  great !  "  he  gasped,  as  he  made  his 
way  through  the  buoyant  and  limpid  coolness, 
as  near  to  the  glory  of  flying  as  mortals  are 
allowed  to  come.  He  clambered  up  on  the 
old  black-walnut  root  in  the  middle  of  the 
nyer,  and  there  sunned  himself  contentedly, 
with  his  thin  young  legs  swaying  gently  back 
and  forth  in  the  stream. 

There  Lonely  whiled  the  time  away  giving 
exhiWtions  of  the  many  fashions  of  water- 
travel.   He  showed  Lionel  Clarence  the 
awkward  and  archaic  "  cow-feshion,"  and  then 
the  methodical,  spatty,  business-like  overhand 
stroke  that  went  by  the  name  of  "sailor- 
fashion,"  then  he  showed  what  "steamboat- 
fashion    meant,  lying  well  out  on  the  top  of 
the  water,  and  churning  it  foamy  with  his 
quick  heel-strokes.  Then  he  «'  laid  his  hair," 
first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  then  ex- 
actly in  the  middle. 

Whereupon  the  sick  boy  said  the  sun  was 
too  hot  for  him,  and  slipped  down  into  the 


"  1)0  YOU   I  HINK  1  'l)  BETTER  kISK  11?  " 


1 6b  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

coolness  again,  where  he  declared  that  every 
bit  of  itchiness  went  out  of  his  skin,  that  he 
felt  all  hunky-dory  there,  and  that  he  was 
even  game  for  a  handicap  race  back  to  shore. 

Back  in  the  shallows  once  more,  they  had 
the  most  glorious  of  water-fights,  smiting  the 
smooth  surface  with  the  heel  of  their  hands, 
and  sending  it  rattling  like  buck-shot  upon 
one  another's  streaming  head  and  shoulders. 
Then,  at  Lonely's  timely  suggestion,  both  fell 
to  smoking  punk,  earnestly  and  assiduousK-, 
to  guard  against  any  possible  attack  of  fever 
and  ague. 

And  just  about  the  precise  time  ttm  Lionel 
Clarence  was  being  initiated  nm  the  systerks 

of  the  back-dive,  his  zeakits  md  solicitous 
grandmother,  having  fanned  his  supposedly 

sleeping  hcv  for  a  good  hour  and  more,  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  patient  was  over- 
sleeping himself,  and  must  promptly  he  fed. 

So,  having  ordered  up  his  broth  and  lirv- 
wuter,  she  hesitatingly  gave  a  gentle  little 
shake  to  the  pitient,  uho  straightway  fell 
apart  in  her  astounded  hand.  Th<  ^  ■/  '  ht]J 
what  most  certaiidy  seemed  to  he-  :i  dis 
membered  grandson,  ^  arm's  ler^-th,  catching 


LIONEL  CLARENCE  ESCAPES  167 

her  breath  hysterically,  and  battling  srvcral 
minutes  for  air,  before  she  could  call  for 
help. 

A  hurried  search  was  made.  But  the  patient 
was  not  to  be  found.  The  household  was 
aroused,  Leena  was  sent  helter-skelter  off  for 
Doctor  Ridley,  and  the  search  was  extended 

to  the  outbuildings  and  the  garden. 

By  this  time  word  had  flown  about  that  the 
Pre!*cher's  son  had  made  his  escape,  in  delirium, 
and  a  sudden  little  wave  of  commotion  swept 
through  the  slumberous  town.  All  business 
came  to  a  standstill ;  searching  parties  were 
hurriedly  formed,  while  every  nook  and  cor- 
ner of  the  Sampson  household  was  being  looked 
over  and  over,  ineflfectually,  for  the  third  and 
fewth  ^ne. 

It  was  old  Captain  Steiner  who  reported  tha*^ 
)x  had  seen  two  boys  in  the  river,  just  above 
the  s«inuma§-hoie,  and  thereby  caused  a  pre- 
cipitous migntk)!!  acroM  commons  and  vacant 
lots  and  hay-fields,  down  to  the  shadowy  river- 
iMmk,  where  nearly  all  Chamboro  arrived,  just 
in  time  to  see  ^  presumably  delirious  Lionel 
Clarence  take  a  neat  back-dive  off  the  spring- 
board. 


1 


i68         LONELY  O'MALLEY 


"It's — it's  my  Lionel  Clarence,  flinging 
himself  in  I " 

The  lad's  father  went  pale,  as  he  broke  into 
a  run,  and  pantingiy  calloi  back  to  old  Doctor 
Ridley,  puffing  at  his  heels,  the  startling  news 
that  his  son  could  not  swim  a  stroke.  Yet  a 
moment  later  they  saw  the  newly  shorn  head 
emerge  from  the  w  ater,  saw  the  confident  stroke 
and  the  business-like  splutter  from  the  lips. 
They  both  stopped  spvtchless  on  the  brink 
of  the  swiniming-holc,  scarcely  able  to  believe 
their  eyes,  still  too  consumed  with  conflicting 
emotions  to  speak. 

Lonely,  who  had  caught  sight  of  the  advanc- 
ing army  from  a  distance,  had  taken  a  discreet 
long  dive  downstream,  then  another  and  an- 
other ;  and  coming  up  under  a  canopy  of  wild 
grapevines,  had  scrambled  ashore  and  secreted 
himself  in  the  uppermost  boughs  of  a  leafy 
willow. 

There  he  remained,  squinting  out  at  the 
sudden  hub -hub,  wondering  if  they  would  find 
the  clothes  he  had  cached  in  a  hollow  log,  to 
escape  the  danger  of  "  chawing  beef  "  at  the 
hands  of  the  Upper  River  gang  and  the  men 
from  the  Tile  Works,  who  had  the  habit  of  not 


DICTATING  A  TKUCE 

only  tying  small  boys'  shirts  into  tight  knots, 
but  of  soaking  them  in  water  and  pounding  the 
knots  with  stones,  to  insure  each  already  tena- 
cious knot  against  easy  undoing. 


MHCROCOPV  RMOUmON  TVT  OiART 

(ANSI  and  BO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


170  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

And  Lionel  Clarence,  finding  himself  so 
dramatically  discovered,  wisely  and  doggedly 
swam  out  to  midstream,  where  he  mounted 
the  black-walnut  root,  and  where  he  remained 
until  a  truce  was  made  and  his  own  terms  were 
finally  agreed  upon. 

Leena  and  Lionel  Clarence's  grandmother 
were  crying  audibly,  by  this  time,  declaring  it 
would  all  be  the  death  of  the  boy,  and  pleading 
for  some  one  to  plunge  in  and  rescue  the  poor 
lad  before  it  was  too  late. 

But  old  Doctor  Ridley  pulled  up  his  coat- 
sleeve,  and  thrust  his  hand  down  into  the  water 
of  the  swimming-hole. 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It 's  as  warm 
as  new  milk  !  " 

And  he  established  a  dangerous  precedent 
in  Chamboro  therapeutics  by  publicly  attesting 
that  it  would  n't  do  the  boy  a  bit  of  harm, 
and  that  he  was  vastly  mistaken,  indeed,  if 
it  would  n't  cool  his  fever  off  a  bit. 

So  Lionel  Clarence,  having  been  induced  to 
paddle  ashore,  as  the  women  in  the  searching 
party  discreetly  withdrew,  was  carefully  mui- 
fied  up  in  a  lap-robe,  and  driven  home  in  the 
Barrisons*  phaeton. 


LIONKL  CLARENCE  L.iCAPES  171 

He  was  plied  with  many  questions  as  to  what 
had  possessed  him  to  run  away  in  that  fashion, 
and  at  just  what  stage  he  had  come  back  to  his 
senses  again,  and  just  how  he  had  fallen  into  his 
miraculous  knowledge  of  the  art  of  swimming. 

But  to  all  these  questions  the  sleepy  patient 
gave  only  vague  and  wandering  answers.  He 
had  no  desire  to  discredit  the  delirium  tradition, 
which  was  given  new  twists  and  turns  as  it 
traveled  from  household  to  household.  It  was 
discussed  and  amended  and  contradicted,  and 
in  time  even  ascended  to  the  dignity  of  one 
of  those  highly  abstruse  and  quite  unsolvable 
psychological  problems '  over  which  the  more 

'  Another  equally  entrancing  problem,  which  lung  kept 
Chatnboro  at  its  wits'  end,  was  the  question  as  to  how 
three  small  sun-fish  found  their  inexplicable  way  into  one 
of  the  freshly  dug  post-holes  of  Judge  Eby's  cow-pasture. 
Some  held  that  these  three  fish  came  from  subterranean 
sources  ;  others  just  as  heatedly  maintained  that  pluvial 
deposit  explained  their  presence,  while  still  others  vacillated 
between  scratching  their  heads  in  utter  bewilderment  and 
half-heartedly  believing  that  some  overburdened  kingfisher 
had  dropped  them  in  flight.  The  simple  truth  of  the  matter 
was  that  the  tight-lipped  and  unbctraviii  i  .onclv  had  dumped 
the  three  fish  from  his  bait-pail  into  the  post-hole,  on  his 
way  home  from  the  river. 


172  I.ONELY  O'M ALLEY 

learned  heads  of  Chamboro  pondered  and 
argued  and  disputed  for  many  a  month  to 
come. 

Two  weeks  later,  however,  when  Lionel 
Clarence  secretly  unearthed  a  pair  of  velvet 
trousers  and  a  little  white  night-gown  from  the 
hollow  log  where  they  had  lain  so  long,  he 
found  that  the  Upper  River  gang  had  already 
been  there,  and  had  visited  on  him  the  tight- 
est and  hardest  assortment  of  knots  in  the 
history  of  the  Hole.  So  he  decided,  at 
Lonely's  mild  suggestion,  that  the  two  gar- 
ments should  remain  in  the  log  for  4II  time, 
and  nothing  more  be  said  about  them. 

If  Doctor  Ridley  had  his  suspicions  in  the 
matter,  that  kindly  old  assuager  of  pain  and 
anxiety  said  nothing  about  them,  in  public. 

When  he  was  sewing  five  neat  little  cat-gut 
stitches  in  Lonely  O'Malley's  shoulder,  how- 
ever, after  an  unhappy  performance  in  knife- 
throwing  (in  emulation  of  one  of  the  peerlessly 
beautiful  Mexican  ladies  attached  to  the  circus 
side-show),  the  shrewd  old  practitioner  put  a 
number  of  more  or  less  disconcerting  questions 
to  his  patient,  as  to  Lionel  Clarence  and  his 
swimming  abilities.   Getting  nothing  out  of 


LIONEL  CLARENCE  ESCAPES  173 

the  boy,  he  ventured  the  remark  that  Lonely 
had  a  streak  of  yellow  in  him. 

"  The  yellow  that  is  sometimes  almost 
gold ! "  he  added  to  himself,  as  an  after- 
thought. Then  he  reached  in  under  his  coat- 
tails  to  that  reputedly  inexhaustible  pocket 
from  which  came  most  of  Chamboro's  lemon- 
drops  and  horehound  lozenges. 


CHAPTKR  VII 


In  which  Ltntly  gets  Rtligion  with  a  ytngtoHct 

SEVKN  fully  armed  and  blo':dthirsty 
Apache  Indians,  having  surrounded  and 
captured  the  Overland  Mail,  dragged  there- 
from the  solitary  passenger  and  tied  him  to 
a  stake  in  Judge  Eby's  cow-pasture. 

Under  the  chicken  feathers  and  war-paint 
of  these  Apaches  might  be  detected  the  exult- 
ant features  of  the  Baxter  Street  gang,  while 
the  Overland  Mail  looked  suspiciously  like 
Alaska  Alice's  go-cart,  hauled  by  the  patient 
Gilead.  It  scarcely  took  a  second  glance  to 
discover  that  the  heroically  daring  and  resolute 
captive  was  Lonely  O'Malley  himself. 

A  pile  of  sticks  was  placed  around  the  feet 
of  the  pale-face,  and  while  the  Apaches  in- 
dulged in  a  second  vociferous  war-dance,  a 
match  was  touched  to  the  waiting  fuel.  This, 
of  course,  was  the  signal  for  the  Rough  Riders 
to  swoop  di  vvn  to  the  rescue.  But  a  fresh 
breeze  was  blowing,  and  the  Rough  Riders 
insisted  on  being  nothing  if  not  convincingly 


178  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


dramatic.  The  mounting  flames  singed  the 
down  from  Lonely's  bare  legs.  While  the 
Apaches  and  the  would-be  rescuers  still  fought 
desperately,  hand  to  hand,  the  flames  began 
to  lick  cruelly  ip  at  the  now  terrified  boy's 
trousers-legs.  He  shouted  and  called  in  vain. 
Equally  in  vain  he  strained  and  pulled  at  the 
stake  to  which  he  had  been  too  well  tied. 

Then,  with  a  sudden  sickening  pang,  the 
thought  came  to  him  that  he  was  to  die  there, 
that  in  another  minute  all  his  life  would  be 
blotted  out  and  he  would  have  to  stand  before 
the  Judgment  Seat  of  his  Maker  with  all  his 
great  misdeeds  on  his  head. 

From  his  earliest  childhood  his  mental 
conception  of  this  Judgment  Seat  had  been 
a  grimly  concrete  one.  It  was  a  great  black  oak 
chair,  which  stood  high  above  the  sky-line, 
like  a  sombrely  towering  island  above  the 
horizon,  and  on  each  side  of  it  rose  two  great 
desks  of  black  oak,  on  which  stood  two  ledg- 
ers bound  in  red  leather.  At  each  of  these 
open  ledgers,  on  a  high  black  stool  through 
the  legs  of  which  clouds  came  and  went,  sat 
a  stern-faced  angel  with  a  goose-quill  pen,  calmly 
turning  over  pages  and  writing  down  little 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  179 

black  marks  after  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
names.  In  so  doing,  Lonely  solemnly  believed, 
they  recorded  every  single  sin  committed  on 
earth.  At  his  own  name,  he  always  thought, 
the  sterner  of  the  two  angels  often  shook 
a  despondent  head,  for  the  line  of  dots,  he 
knew,  was  almost  endless,  being  carried  grimly 
on  from  page  to  page  and  threatening  some  day 
to  invade  even  the  inside  of  the  back  cover. 

There  was  nothing  grotesque  in  the  image 
to  the  boy ;  on  many  occ^ions,  in  fact,  the 
vision  of  the  implacable  ange!  with  the  goose- 
quill  pen  had  served  to  keep  him  to  the  straight 
and  narrow  path  of  rectitude.  He  could  uot 
explain,  however,  whether  it  was  from  teach- 
ing, hearsay,  or  picture-books  that  his  concep- 
tion of  this  Judgment  Seat  had  first  arisen. 

So,  in  his  moment  of  peril,  it  flashed  through 
him  that  his  line  of  black  marks  was  a  hope- 
lessly long  one,  being  carried  countlessly  on, 
unlike  all  others,  from  one  big  pageful  to 
another ;  and  with  a  second  and  deeper  pang 
of  terror  he  realized  that  he  was  not  fit  to  die. 
His  black  young  life  had  been  fairly  stippled 
with  mendacity;  and  liars,  it  had  been  written, 
shall  inherit  Hell. 


I  So  LONELY  O'M  ALLEY 


Yet  die  he  might  very  easily  have  done  — 
for  both  Apaches  and  Rough  Riders  were  now 
gazing  at  him  with  horror-stricken  eyes  —  had 
not  Butcher  Brcnnan,  driving  homeward  with 
three  spring  lambs,  chanced  to  see  and  size  up 
the  situation.  He  caught  up  a  bucket  of  water 
from  Judge  Eby's  water-trough,  and  scatter- 
ing boys  right  and  left  as  he  came,  doused  the 
burning  captive  from  head  to  foot,  kicked  away 
the  still  burning  brands,  and  then  focused  on 
his  hapless  son  Piggie  that  wrath  which  should 
have  descended  diftusedly  on  the  heads  of 
the  entire  band  of  Apaches  and  Rough  Riders 
together. 

Kven  as  it  was,  Lonely  lost  his  eyebrows, 
his  forelock,  and  the  front  of  his  checked  calico 
blouse.  For  a  few  days,  too,  his  singed  and 
blistered  bandy  legs  were  secretly  anointed 
with  soda,  sour  milk,  moist  blue  clay,  melted 
lard,  witch-hazel,  and,  in  fact,  every  healing 
and  soothing  lubricant  which  artfully  and  cir- 
cuitously  evolved  household  advice  brought 
forward  from  the  rest  of  the  still  sorrowing 
gang- 
But  long  after  the  soreness  had  passed 
away,  and  the  sandy  eyebrows  had  cropped  out 


LONELY  GEIS  RELIGION  iHi 

once  more,  Lonely's  imagination  harked  back 
along  that  channel  into  which  it  had  been  so 
suddenly  and  so  vividly  plunged.  He  had 
stolen  and  robbed  and  lied.  The  days  of  his 
youth  had  been  days  of  sin  and  idleness.  The 


<»JTCHER  BRENNAN  DOUSED  THE  BVRNING  CAPTIVE 


1 82  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 


Although  these  brooding  thoughts  some- 
what darkened  the  days  that  followed,  they 
did  not  readily  quench  the  old  pagan  and 
irresponsible  spirit  of  the  boy.  When,  for 
example,  he  and  Pud  Jones  decided  to  add  to 
their  earthly  stores  by  early  morning  labor  in 
the  strawberry  patches,  it  was  decided  that  Pud 
should  awaken  Lonely  by  the  time-honored 
method  of  pulling  on  a  string  tied  to  the  lat- 
ter's  great  toe,  and  left  danghng  downward 
through  the  open  window. 

Pud,  in  a  sudden  spirit  of  facc  riousness,  was 
not  content  to  give  this  string  the  gentle  little 
jerk  allowed  by  tradition.  For,  after  a  sturdy 
pull,  he  decided,  indeed,  to  climb  up  the  string, 
and  only  its  eventual  snapping,  followed  by 
a  muffled  howl,  rendered  this  feat  out  of  the 
question.  It  brought  Lonely  out  of  bed  with 
a  bound,  however,  wrathfully  hopping  about 
on  one  foot  and  nursing  the  injured  member 
while  he  cried  down  inaudible  imprecations  on 
the  boy  rolling  and  shaking  and  writhing  so 
spasmodically  below. 

Nothing  more  was  said  of  the  matter  until 
they  parted  for  the  day,  when  Lonely  gently 
reminded  Pud  that  he  was  to  be  awakened  at 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION 


'»3 


five,  the  next  morning,  as  before.  Whereat 
Pud  chuckled  inwardly,  and  straightway  de- 
cided to  bring  Red- 
ney  McWi  1 1  iams 
along  to  see  the  fun. 

Before  going  to 
bed  that  night 
Lonely  filled  a  wil- 
low bread-basket 
with  wood  ashes, 
well  mixed  with  the 
softest  and  mushiest 
of  those  potetoes 
which  a  picking  over 
of  the  bakery  bin, 
weeks  before,  had 
cast  out  to  unconsid- 
ered dissolution.  To 
the  handle  of  this 
basket,  well  hidden  on  his  inner  window-sill, 
he  tied  the  piece  of  dangling  string,  and  went 
to  bed  to  sleep  the  deep  and  happy  sleep  of 
the  artist  well  satisfied  with  his  work. 

His  one  regret  was  that  he  had  not  awak- 
ened to  witness  the  outcome  of  his  retributive 
plot.   He  discovered,  though,  that  neither 


NURSING  THE  INJURED  MEMBER 


184  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


Pud  Jones  nor  Redney  McWilliams  attended 
school  that  morning,  that  neither  of  them  had 
gone  picking  strawberries,  and  that  the  willow 
bread-basket  had  been  vindictively  kicked 
round  and  round  the  little  yard  until  it  was 
in  tatters.  When  he  later  found  out  that  the 
two  boys  had  spent  the  entire  morning  at  the 
swimming-hole,  he  sniffed  once  more,  with 
zest,  at  the  advanced  dissolution  of  the  back- 
yard potato  pile,  hunched  up  a  contempla- 
tive shoulder,  gazed  down  at  his  swollen  toe 
and  wondered  if  after  all  that  meant  another 
black  mark  in  thn  '  '"^  red  ledger. 

During  those  idle,  empty  days  which  inter- 
vened between  berry-picking  time  and  the 
midsummer  holidays,  when  the  boys  of  Cham- 
boro  would  be  turned  loose  on  the  world 
again.  Lonely  O'Malley  was  more  and  more 
driven  in  on  himself.  His  last  shred  of  avail- 
able material  had  been  used  up  for  that  octo- 
pus like  air-ship  which  suckea  away  his  time 
and  his  worldly  wealth  and  gave  nothing  in 
return.  Lionel  Clarence,  after  his  illness,  was 
still  capricious  and  languid ;  the  companionship 
of  Annie  Eliza  was  to  be  resorted  to  only  after 
a  secretive  and  periodic  fashion ;  Shivers  and 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  185 

Gilead,  even  as  the  Baby  itself,  soon  palled  on 
his  newly  stirred  and  brackish  spirit,  where  all 
the  marsh-gas  of  his  stagnant  young  soul 
seemed  to  add  more  and  more  to  the  latent 
explosibility  of  his  cramped  and  soured  little 
life. 

When  the  sudden  yet  inevitable  change 
came,  it  came  from  a  quarter  least  expected. 

Em'ly  Bird  and  Lulu  Bird,  having  quar- 
reled with  Jappie  Barrison  and  Nora  Eby  as 
to  the  true  meaning  of  the  familiar  "  N  or 
M  "  of  the  elementary  catechism,  indignantly 
absented  themselves  from  Sunday  School  and 
decided  to  hold  independent  religious  service 
each  Sunday  afternoon  in  the  sand-pit,  down 
by  the  river,  just  above  the  ice-house. 

Here  Em'ly  Bird  read  a  chapter  from  Re- 
velation to  Annie  McWilliams  and  Peewee 
Steiner,  and  then  solemnly  called  on  Lulu 
Bird  for  prayer.  After  this  a  hymn  was  sung 
in  the  dragging,  high-pitched,  childish  voices, 
and  Em'ly,  surrounded  by  her  following,  tear- 
fully recounted  her  persecutions,  after  the 
fashion  of  that  sombre  Sunday  School  library 
heroine  who  for  the  moment  held  sway  over 
her  shifting  affection,  telling  of  her  hapless 


1 86  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

home,  of  her  misunderstood  life,  of  her  blighted 
worldly  hopes,  and  her  forgotten  vanities  of 
the  flesh.  But  from  that  day  forth  she  was  to 
lead  the  life  of  the  spirit.  She  was  to  succor 
the  weak  and  help  the  widowed  and  ^therless ; 
she  was  to  forgive  her  enemies,  even  Nora 
Eby  and  Jappie  Barrison ;  she  was  to  be  meek 
in  spirit,  and  always  to  do  good  unto  others. 
Here,  finding  the  list  of  her  potential  virtues 
unexpectedly  exhausted,  she  fell  back  on  her 
Sunday  School  book,  and  in  a  slow  and  labored 
voice  read  to  them  the  death-scene  at  the  end 
of  the  story. 

This  started  Peewee  Steiner  crying  con- 
vulsively, to  be  joined  later  by  Annie  McWil- 
liams  and  Lulu  Bird,  though  Em'ly  did  not 
give  herself  over  to  the  luxury  of  grief  until 
the  last  sad  lines  had  been  read.  Then  with 
a  sudden  hysterical  rapture  of  concern  she 
pleaded  with  her  tearful  companions  to  lead 
new  lives  while  yet  there  was  time,  that  they 
might  escape  the  torture  of  the  Lake  of  Ever- 
lasting Fire. 

Em'ly's  passionate  apprehension  seemed  to 
take  on  itself  the  spirit  of  infection,  for  Annie 
McWilliams  flung  herself  on  her  knees  and 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  187 

prayed  aloud  for  her  soul,  then  and  there,  the 
tears  of  contrition  streaming  down  her  cheeks 
as  she  openly  confessed  to  all  of  those  past 
sins  which  she  could  remember.  Then  Jappie 
Barrison  choked  back  her  own  sobs,  and  less 
raptly  and  more  shamefacedly  told  of  her  own 
misdoings,  while  Lulu  Bird  rocked  her  body 
back  and  forth  and  begged  that  the  world 
should  not  come  to  an  end  until  all  her  sins 
had  been  washed  away. 

Then  Em'ly  and  her  neophytes  kissed  one 
another,  and  finding  that  the  mysterious 
passion  which  had  shaken  their  young  lives  to 
the  root  had  already  passed  -  .d  died  away  as 
strangely  as  it  had  come,  th  lid  their  Bible 
and  Sunday  School  book  under  a  ledge  of 
sand,  and  escaped  back  to  the  world  of  real- 
ities again,  wonderingly,  a  little  frightened  of 
one  another,  and  of  themselves. 

All  of  this  strange  ceremony  Lonely  O'Mal- 
ley  heard  and  saw  from  the  half-hidden  mouth 
of  his  sand-pit  cave,  where  he  stood,  spell- 
bound and  speechless. 

It  even  made  him  feel  creepy,  tingling  with 
the  same  little  pricks  of  the  skin  as  those 
which  ran  over  him  when  errand  or  acd- 


i88 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


dent  took  him  past  the  graveyard  late  at 
night. 

It  was  all  so  intangible,  so  insubstantial,  so 
bewildering  to  the  untutored  imagination.  It 
was  a  voice  from  beyond  the  hills  of  reality. 

I^onely  crept  stealthily  down  into  the  sand- 
pit^ and  with  not  a  little  trepidation  exhumed 
the  buried  Bible  and  Sunday  School  story. 
Then  he  made  his  way  carefully  back  to  the 
cave,  where  he  flung  himself  down  and  turned 
the  two  books  over  and  over  in  his  hand, 
guardedly,  apprehensively,  as  though  either 
of  them  might  still  hold  imprisoned  some  ter- 
rible and  occult  power  for  good  or  evil. 

It  was  the  Bible  which  he  first  thrust  away 
from  him,  hiding  it  well  behind  him  back  in 
the  cave.  For  was  it  not  the  great  solemn 
Book  which  stood  on  parlor  centre-tables, 
the  book  from  which  terrible  sermons  were 
preached,  the  very  arsenal,  to  his  barbarian 
young  mind,  of  all  those  stern  «  Thou  Shalt 
Nets  "which  so  imperiled  human  existence, 
and  so  beset  with  danger  and  dread  youth's 
free  and  natural  course  ? 

It  is  true  that  he  had  had  his  accidental 
dips  into  the  more  rudimentary  phases  of 


I.ONEJ.Y  GETS  RELIGION  189 

scriptural  lore.  On  a  few  rare  occasions  he 
had  even  attended  church,  of  his  own  free  will, 
creeping  into  the  huge  and  shadowy  Cowans- 
burg  edifice  with  a  hunted  and  startled  look, 
to  be  overawed  by  the  tremulous  roll  and 
thunder  of  the  pipe-organ,  and  to  be  charmed 
into  emitting  from  his  cacophonous  young 
throat  an  intoxicating  verse  or  two  of  the 
choir's  hymn.  But  church,  he  explained  in  his 
more  intimate  moods,  always  *'  choked  him 
up."  It  gave  him  the  same  feeling  as  did  the 
little  white  satin-lined  coffin  in  the  show- 
window  of  Chamboro's  leading  furniture-dealer 
and  undertaker  —  a  dim  and  shivery  sense  of 
depression.  His  Sabbath  School  training,  un- 
happily, had  been  most  irregular  and  spasmo- 
dic, and  always  suspiciously  synchronous  with 
the  advent  of  the  annual  pi>.nic  to  Cowan's 
Grove.  Indeed,  his  last  term  of  attendance 
had  been  brought  to  an  untimely  close  through 
a  purely  innocent  and  above-board  retort  of 
Lonely's,  who,  when  asked  by  his  teacher  if 
he  was  not  delighted  to  have  a  little  baby  sister 
arrive  in  his  family,  honestly  and  openmindedly 
asserted  that  he  would  much  rather  have  had  a 
pup.  This  remark  created  such  an  uproar  that 


190  LONELY  O'lVl ALLEY 

the  Superintendent  was  summarily  brought  on 
the  scene  to  inquire  into  its  cause,  and  gleaning 
some  little  inkling  of  Lonely's  utter  depravity 

from  many  startling  and  contradictory  explana- 
tions, ejected  our  embittered  young  barbarian 
from  the  class  and  from  the  Sunday  School 
itself 

So  it  was  Km'ly  Bird's  romance,  bearing 
the  dubious  title  of  "  Agatha  Doring's  Long 
Ordeal,"  into  which  Lonely  first  dipped.  It  was 
a  startling  new  type  of  story  to  the  eager  and 
avid-mind<^  boy,  —  like  neither  "  The  Head- 
less Horseman"  nor  the  "Swiss  Family 
Robinson,"  for  it  told,  in  short  sentences  and 
easy  words,  of  the  suffering  and  heroism  of 
Agatha  Doring,  tortured  and  ill-treated  by  an 
unconverted  maiden  aunt,  who  often  sent  the 
child  to  bed  supperless,  simply  for  I^eing  true 
to  her  own  conscience,  and  often  beat  her, 
simply  because  she  was  so  scrupulously  honest. 
But  in  the  end,  after  many  troubles,  included 
in  which  was  an  almost  fatal  attack  of  brain- 
fever,  Agatha  was  the  means  of  leading  the 
maiden  aunt  to  grace,  even  while  casting  seeds 
of  piety  far  and  wide  along  her  every-day  path 
of  life. 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  191 

Lonely  pored  over  the  hook  until  the  end 
was  reached,  until  the  sun  was  low  in  the  west. 
Then  he  gazed  out,  through  the  half-lights  of 


PORED  OVER  THE  BOOK  UNTlt  THE  END  WAS  REACHED 


the  dingy  little  cave,  into  a  new  and  wonder- 
ful world. 

To  do  good,  like  Miss  Agatha  Doring,  to 
greet  every  one  with  a  quiet  and  gentle  smile, 
to  have  your  elders  look  after  you  approvingly, 


i9a  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

to  protect  the  innocent  young  birds  and  plants, 
to  bring  jelly  and  read  fiury-ules  to  little  girls 
suffering  from  an  incurable  sickness,  to  step  in, 
and,  with  a  reproving  word  or  two,  to  stop  the 
stalwart  bully  from  beating  the  smaller  boy, 
to  argue  triumphantly  with  the  village  infidel, 
as  did  Agatha,  and  worst  him  on  his  own 
ground  and  lead  him  meekly  and  humbly  to 
the  life  of  the  spirit,  even  to  go  gloriously 
without  a  supper  now  and  then,  for  the  sake 
of  some  proudly  and  stubbornly  hidden  right 
—  all  this  seemed  so  easy  and  so  alluriug  to 
Lonely  O'Malley,  as  he  walked  home  through 
the  shadowy  summer  twilight,  with  swelling 
breast  and  a  firmer  tread  of  the  feet.  He  even 
pictured  himself  as  holding  revival  meetings 
in  the  Market  Square,  with  a  sea  of  upturned 
feces  smiling  their  approval  and  gratitude  up 
to  him,  as  he  swayed  them  with  the  force  of 
his  oratory,  and  brought  them  one  by  one 
to  that  life  of  the  spirit  about  which  Agatha 
had  talked  so  much. 

Supper  was  over  and  the  table  cleared  av/ay 
long  before  he  had  reached  home ;  slowly  and 
unconsciously  a  subtle  change  came  over  the 
tenor  of  his  mood. 


LONEI.Y  (JKrs  RKI.KJION  19J 

He  foraged  fretfully  and  resentfully  about, 
demanding  to  know  if  there  was  anything  lit 
to  eat  in  the  house,  and  asserting,  in  no  un- 
certain language,  that  he  was  dead  sick  of  cold 
bread  and  milk,  that  the  rhubarb  tarts  were 
sour  enough  to  make  a  pig  squeal. 

Then,  with  a  sudden  pang  of  contrition,  he 
remembered  that  this  was  not  the  way  in  which 
Agatha  Doring  bore  her  trials.  So  he  con- 
sumed the  remainder  of  his  meal  in  silence  and 
proud  humility,  remembering  that  from  that 
day  forward  he  was  ordained  to  be  misunder- 
stood and  ill-treated  and  misjudged. 

A  few  minutes  later  his  mother  heard  him 
bustling  about  the  wood-shed,  searching  for 
soap  and  shoe-polish,  slicking  down  his  hair, 
and  doing  his  best  to  sponge  ancient  and 
innumerable  spots  oft  his  dust-stained  Sunday 
clothes. 

"Lonely  O'Malley,  what  're  you  sprucing 
up  that  way  for,  anyhow  ? "  his  astounded 
mother  demanded,  for  such  things  were  new 
in  the  career  of  her  t\'cr-changing  son. 

He  fell  back  into  his  old  attitude  of  silent 
humility,  and  addressed  his  parent  as  "  mother," 
even  as  Agatha  Doring  would  do. 


194  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"Mother,  I'm  a-goin'  to  church!"  he 
asserted,  pleased  beyond  words  at  the  startled 
look  which  this  declaratioii  brought  to  the 
other's  face. 

"  Lonely,  you  ain't  sick,  or  nothing  ? "  cried 
his  mother,  suddenly,  turning  his  face  to  the 
light. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  sepulchrally.  "  No, 

1      not  sick  !  " 

"Then  wh  are  you  acting  up  this  way, 

fixing  up,  and  talking  about  going  to  church, 

and  all  that?" 

"  I  am  seeking  for  the   Light  and  the 

Truth !  "  answered  the  spirit  of  Agatha  Dor- 

ing,  through  the  mouth  of  Lonely  O'M alley. 

He  rolled  his  eyes  a  little,  as  he  said  it,  and 

even  came  back  and  closed  the  door  after  him, 
gently  and  slowly. 

And  as  Lonely  had  always  been  an  enigma 
to  his  own  mother,  Mrs.  O'Malley  accepted 
the  new  mystery  for  what  it  was  worth,  though 
a  blind  and  wistful  ligh^  came  into  her  vacant 
eyes  as  they  followed  Lonely  out  through  the 
warm  night  air,  down  the  little  path,  and  on 
through  the  murmurous  silence  of  the  village 
street. 


LONELY  GKTS  RKLKJION 


"Me  poor  boy  !  "  was  all  she  said.  A  ^ 
Lonely,  even  though  he  had  heard  it,  would 
never  have  understood  it.  "  Me  poor  hoy  !  " 

Lonely  was  in  time  for  the  sermon.  lie 
made  vague  guesses  as  to  just  what  Lionel 
Clarence's  father  meant,  and  certain  simpler 
phrases  now  and  then  came  home  to  him. 
But  the  ge  i:ral  unintelligibiiit}  of  the  ser- 
mon only  added  to  its  mysterious  charm.  It 
was  oracular,  symbolic,  to  be  interpreted  to 
fit  the  passing  moment,  to  be  translated  to 
suit  the  changing  mood.  It  had  much  to  do 
with  the  need  of  prayer  and  confession,  w  hich 
was  the  exteriorization  and  alienation  of  all 
inner  sin  ;  and  if  it  left  Lonely  unsatisfied  in 
mind,  it  tended  to  soothe  him  in  spirit. 

Karly  the  next  morning  he  was  bad  in  he 
cave,  poring  over  the  little  calf-skin  Biblr  spell- 
ing out  the  words  as  best  he  could,  mo'  i  ■  . 
the  mystery  of  the  symbols  far  too  gt^  ^  fus 
his  child- nind  to  grasp. 

"  And  I  stood  upon  the  sands  of  the  sea, 
and  saw  a  beast  rise  up  out  of  the  sea,  having 
seven  heads  and  ten  horns,  and  upon  his  horns 
ten  crowns,  and  upon  his  heads  the  name  of 
blasphemy." 


196  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

It  was  writing  the  like  unto  which  Lonely 
had  never  before  read,  and  he  went  on,  from 
verse  to  verse,  spellbound. 

"  If  any  man  have  an  ear,  let  him  hear." 

"  He  that  leadeth  into  captivity  shall  go 
into  captivity :  he  that  killeth  with  the  sword 
must  be  killed  with  the  sword.  Here  is  the 
patience  and  the  faith  of  the  saints." 

And  he  read  on  and  on,  unconscious  of  time 
and  place,  gasping  over  the  seven  angels  with 
the  seven  plagues,  quailing  over  the  fall  of 
Babylon,  rejoicing  over  the  chaining  of  the 
Dragon,  and  thrilling  at  the  jeweled  wealth 
of  the  new  Jerusalem. 

It  was  a  fire-brand  to  the  dry  straw  of  his 
starved  imagination.  What  seemed  the  waste 
acreage  of  his  misspent  youth,  burning  itself 
shamefacedly  away,  only  added  to  the  vital 
heat  of  the  quick  transformation. 

He  went  back  to  the  first  of  the  book,  and 
read  it  as  carefully,  yet  emerged  from  it  as 
dubiously  uncertain  as  from  the  last  of  it. 

Some  of  the  faint  echoes  of  modern  science 
had  fallen  on  his  inattentive  young  ears.  The 
whispers  of  modern  skepticism  had  crept 
absently  into  his  preoccupied  mind. 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  197 

"  I 'm  going  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  this 
here  Adam  and  Eve  business!"  he  said  to 
himself,  with  great  determination,  as  he  made 
his  way  boldly  toward  the  study  of  the  Rever- 
end Ezra  Sampson,  and  requested  the  privi- 
lege of  a  private  conversation  with  that  amazed 
and  somewhat  perturbed  scholar. 

"  Is  God  a  liar  ? "  was  the  boy's  first  ques- 
tion, as  he  faced  the  clergyman,  in  the  quiet- 
ness of  the  little  study. 

"  God,  my  boy,  is  the  light  and  the  truth," 
answered  the  man,  forbearingly. 

"  But  does  God  say  one  thing  and  then  go 
and  do  another  ?  "  demanded  Lonely,  with 
unrelaxed  severity. 

The  clergyman  made  sure  that  the  door 
was  well  closed  before  their  talk  went  any  fur- 
ther. Into  what  channels  it  drifted  only  the 
minister  of  the  gospel  and  his  pagan  young 
interlocutor  ever  knew,  though  it  left  the 
former  in  a  strangely  disturbed  state  of  mind, 
while  eventually  adding  little  or  nothing  to 
the  spiritual  satisfaction  of  Lonely  himself. 

Kzra  Sampson,  in  fact,  on  meeting  old 
Doctor  Ridley  that  very  morning,  confessed 
to  him  his  perplexity  and  the  unlooked-for 


198  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

turn  which  had  come  in  the  beni.  of  Lonely's 
aggressive  young  mind. 

"  Tut  I  tut !  "  asseverated  the  old  Doctor, 
easily.   "Don't  try  to  pick  open  the  bud 

before  it  unfolds  !  " 

"  But  his  curiosity  is  unlimited,  and  his 
questions  are  astounding, simply  astounding!" 

"  I  hen  let  him  worry  and  chew  over  'em 
for  a  while  —  it  '11  do  his  spiritual  teeth  a  world 
of  good.  Take  my  advice,  Kzra,  and  don't 
pack  the  boy  full  of  doctrine.  It 'd  seem  too 
much  like  trying  to  teach  a  five-year-old  girl 
the  full  duties  of  married  life  !  " 

"  But  this  seems  more  than  a  mere  ebulli- 
tion of  morbid  fancy.  My  wife  claims  that 
he  is  for,  very  far,  from  being  the  vicious 
character  he  may  seem,  at  first  sight.  And 
I  must  confess  that  in  many  respects  he  is  an 
extraordinary  boy,  a  very  extraordinary  boy." 

"He'll  get  over  it,  Ezra;  he'll  get  over 
it !  He  '11  fall  in  love,  or  turn  pirate,  or  want 
to  be  a  soldier,  and  then  the  two  over-blown 
bubbles  of  fancy  '11  somehow  touchj  and  both 
of  'em  will  collapse." 

Yet  Lonely  did  not  get  over  it  quite  so 
soon  as  the  sage  old  practitioner  prophesied. 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  199 

He  borrowed  what  religious  books  he  could 
from  Lionel  Clarence ;  he  took  to  Bible-read- 
ing, of  an  afternoon,  with  his  old-time  enemy, 
Miss  Mehetabel  Wilkins,  and  made  it  a  matter 
of  conscience  to  accept  no  more  than  one 
cheese-cake  at  the  end  of  the  solemn  conference 
in  the  little  antimacassar-strewn  sitting-room. 


MATTER  OP  CONSCIENCr  TO  ACCEPT  NO  MORE  THAN 
ONE  CHEESE-CAKE 


200  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

When  Mr.  Sampson  was  told  of  this  sus- 
tained and  seriou-  interest  in  things  eternal, 
he  suggested  to  his  wife  that  they  have  the  lad 
in  for  supper,  and  do  what  they  could  to  get 
on  a  more  friendly  basis  with  him. 

"  It  would  indeed  be  gratifying  to  feel  that 
we  were  the  instruments  of  leading  this 
darkened  boy  out  into  the  light ! "  said  the 
man  of  the  cloth,  with  a  sigh. 

"  And  I  '11  have  Leena  make  the  freezer 
full  of  chocolate  ice-cream,"  added  his  wife, 
inconsequentially.  This  stern  but  whole-souled 
woman  had  once  been  heard  to  confess  that 
nothing  gave  her  more  joy  than  the  sight  of 
half  a  dozen  hungry  small  boys  devouring  one 
of  her  dinners. 

"He  has  been  a  wayward  youth !  But  even 
the  darkest  mind  seems  to  have  its  divine 
glimmer  ! " 

"  He 's  a  young  rip  !  "  said  Mrs.  <^  nson, 
with  quiet  conviction,  following  he  i  line 
of  thought.  "  And  I  fancy  he  will  be  a  young 
rip,  for  many  a  day  to  come  !  " 

"  There  is  more  joy  in  heaven  over  one 
sinner  that  repenteth— "  began  the  clergy- 
man, reprovingly. 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  201 

"  Well,  I  'II  have  some  fresh  pound-cake  and 
currant-loaf  for  him,"  said  the  placid  apostle 
of  materialism,  from  the  doorway,  as  she  went 
back  to  her  jam-making. 

Lonely  ate  supper  with  the  Sampsons, 
accordingly,  in  his  best  black  clothes,  with  his 
hair  plastered  decorously  down  over  his  ears, 
and  a  quaver  of  emotional  tension  in  his  more 
carefully  modulated  voice.  Indeed,  such  a 
settled  smile  of  meek  and  wistful  melancholy 
played  about  his  features  that  Lionel  Clar- 
ence demanded  to  know  what  was  making 
him  such  a  stiff,  and  had  lurking  suspi- 
cions that  Lonely  had  been  eating  Bordeaux 
Mixture  again  off  the  Gubtills'  gooseberry 
bushes. 

The  Preacher's  son  thought  that  this  supper 
was  to  be  a  rare  treat,  and  that,  being  the 
official  recognition  of  his  newly  found  chum, 
it  would  find  Lonely  in  his  lightest  and  most 
engaging  vein. 

Never  was  boy  more  doomed  to  bitter  dis- 
appointment. 

It  is  true  that  Lonely  did  ample  though 
somewhat  uneasy  justice  to  the  chocolate  ice- 
cream, to  the  currant-loaf  and  the  pound-cake, 


202  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


to  say  nothing  of  ample  helpings  of  Mrs.  Samp- 
son's justly  renowned  quince  preserve.  But 
these  were  now  the  mere  accidentals  and  inci- 
dentals of  existence,  which  the  excellent  Lonely 
schooled  himself  to  accept  casually  and  absent- 
mindedly.  His  interest  in  the  foreign  mission 
field,  however,  seemed  unbounded.  He  even 
pointedly  inquired  of  his  host  if  there  still 
were  left  many  leper  colonies  where  mission- 
aries could  go  and  lead  lonely,  martyred,  and 
heroically  horrible  lives. 

Lionel  Clarence  looked  at  his  guest  and 
gasped.  Could  this  be  the  same  boy  who  had 
taught  him  to  spit  through  his  teeth  ! 

And  Lionel  Clarence,  with  sudden  unright- 
eous anger,  kicked  the  new  Lonely  O'M  alley 
under  the  table. 

Lonely,  at  this,  only  smiled  wanly  and 
sadly.  Lionel  Clarence  some  day  would  see 
things  as  he  did.  His  eyes  would  be  opened, 
and  then  he  would  remember  and  be  sorry  ! 

But  as  there  were  still  many  points  of 
dogma  about  which  Lonely  was  almost  ludi- 
crously unschooled,  Mr.  Sampson  invited  the 
boy  to  attend  his  regular  Wednesday  evening 
class. 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  203 

Lonely  had  judiciously  disposed  of  his  col- 
lection of  birds'  eggs,  wondering  how  he  had 
the  heart,  even  in  his  unregenerate  days,  to 
indulge  in  an  amusement  so  cruel  to  any  of 
God's  creatures.  He  had  likewise  for  all  time 
given  up  smoking,  and  one  rainy  afternoon  in 
the  Harrisons'  stable  even  reproved  Lionel 
Clarence  for  his  surreptitious  and  unseemly 
indulgence  in  the  weed. 

It  gave  his  heart  a  wrench  to  think  that  he 
had  to  part  with  his  old  friend  Gilead,  but  as 
he  went  over  the  long  list  of  the  goat's  trans- 
gressions, he  saw  there  was  no  help  for  it,  and 
wondered  just  how  and  where  he  could  get 
rid  of  an  offender  so  notorious  ami  so  steeped 
in  all  the  cunning  of  well-seasoned  crime.  His 
first  inclination  was  to  build  a  funeral  pyre,  ami 
offer  him  up  as  a  living  sacrifice,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  righteous  of  olden  times.  This 
seemed  to  him,  however,  both  an  unalleviated 
cruelty  and  an  uncommendable  monetary  sac- 
rifice. So  he  temporized  over  the  point  until, 
to  his  unspeakable  relief,  he  discovered  that 
Abraham  himself  had  been  an  honored  and 
respected  keeper  of  goats.  Finding  his  case 
bolstered  up  with  so  substantial  a  precedent. 


204         LONELY  O'MALLEY 

he  firmly  decided  to  retain  Gilead  in  his  ret- 
inue. But  he  no  longer  took  outward  joy  in 
Gilead's  unseemliness  of  action  and  appetite. 
The  boy  whose  spiritual  eyes  had  been  opened 
even  showed  no  sign  of  anger  when  Shivers 
rescued  for  the  fifth  time  from  the  river  the 
Widow  Tiffins's  three  drowned  kittens,  which 
Lonely  had  as  carefully  though  hurriedly  re- 
placed in  their  watery  grave.  Even  when 
Gilead  ate  a  goodly  part  of  his  newly  pasted 
house-kite  no  word  of  reproof  fell  from  the 
boy's  lips  —  though  in  times  past  all  such 
transgressions  had  marked  sorry  days  in  the 
predaceous  existence  of  his  meek  and  ever 
faithful  pet. 

One  of  Lonely's  sorest  trials,  in  his  efforts 
to  lead  a  new  life,  was  his  diurnal  watering  of 
the  decrepit  Plato  —  a  task,  by  the  way,  out 
of  which  he  had  once  wrung  not  a  little  excite- 
ment. For  Plato,  whether  because  of  some 
mere  caprice  of  the  spirit,  some  mysterious 
weakness  of  the  flesh,  or  some  pertinacious 
association  of  idea,  or,  perhaps,  even  some 
long-continued  abuse  at  the  hands  of  a  former 
owner,  had  to  be  soundly  kicked  in  the 
stomach  before  he  would  drink  a  pail  of  water. 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  205 

So  what  seemed  at  first  sight  a  sheer  cruelty, 
and  had  been  the  cause  of  much  indignant 
protest  at  the  hands  of  uncomprehending 
neighbors,  was  in  reality  a  kindness.  For  with- 


ATE  A  GOOD  PART  OF  HIS  NEWLY  HASTED  HOUSE-KITE 


out  this  resounding  thump  on  the  ribs  the 
muscles  of  Plato's  gaunt  throat  seemed  stricken 
with  paralysis.  Once  the  essential  kick  had 
been  adminiEtered,  Lonely  had  often  noticed, 
a  look  of  mute  gratitude  crept  into  his  eye,  his 


2o6         LONELY  O'MALLEY 

nose  went  deep  down  in  the  pail,  and  he  drank 
freely  and  eagerly. 

But  to  the  ca8uistic-^;rown  Lonely  a  kick 
was  a  kick,  and  many  were  the  deliberations 
and  devices  to  force  the  perverted  Plato  to 
refresh  himself  after  some  more  enlightened 
and  humane  procedure. 

The  obdurate  Plato,  however,  had  little 
or  no  idea  of  conduct,  and  Lonely  piously  de- 
cided that  this  was  to  be  one  of  the  thorns  in 
the  side  of  his  new-found  beatitude.  It  was 
something  to  be  borne  in  meek  and  unprotest- 
ing  silence,  along  with  the  taunts  and  gibes  of 
the  Gang  when  they  came  upon  him  unexpect- 
edly in  the  comfortable  and  lumbering  old 
rockaway,  along  with  Miss  Mehetabel  Wilkins, 
on  the  way  home  from  a  day  of  cherry-picking 
in  the  country  —  as  a  reward  for  that  new  and 
deeper  seriousness  of  mind  so  rare  and  yet  so 
becoming  in  the  young. 

On  this  occasion,  it  must  be  recordt  the 
smug  and  serenely  satisfied  face  of  his  old-time 
tutor  in  sin  so  worked  on  the  feelings  of  the 
dusty  Lionel  Clarence  that  he  climbed  boldly 
up  on  the  back  of  the  old  carriage,  for  the 
avowed  purpose  of  punching  Lonely's  head. 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGK)N  207 

But  his  loose-waisted  l)iouse  was  stuffed  to 
repletion  with  Karly  Richmond  cherries,  and 
as  he  leaned  over  the  empty  back  scat  he  felt 
a  sudden  gush  of  winey  rivers  down  his  body, 
and  he  discreetly  let  go  his  hold,  trying  in 
vain  to  shake  the  cherry-juice  from  his  trousers 
legs  and  even  his  sodden  boots,  where,  later  in 
theday,it  solemnly  convinced  his  Grandmother 
Horton  that  the  boy  was  already  in  the  second 
stage  of  scarlet  fever. 

Lonely,  indeed,  was  being  pointed  out,  all 
up  and  down  the  streets  of  Chamhoro,  as  the 
boy  who  had  been  converted ;  and  in  this 
gracious  publicity,  of  course,  he  took  no  little 
delight.  He  even  raptly  arose  from  his  bed, 
late  one  night,  and,  seeking  out  the  home 
of  Samuel  Brennan,  the  butcher,  demanded  of 
that  rotund  materialist  and  apostle  of  all  ven- 
tral delights,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  if 
he  was  saved. 

He  was  peremptorily  told  by  the  elder 
Brennan  to  get  to  the  devil  out  of  that  or  he 
would  have  the  hide  whaled  off  him.  And 
Lonely  went  resignedly,  though  not  altogether 
disheartened,  for  the  next  day  his  exercises  in 
evangelism  were  extended  to  different  citizens 


ao«         LONELY  CMALLEY 

of  Chamboro  —  though  not  in  any  case  with 
immediate  or  flattering  success. 

Lonely  began  to  see  what  many  another 
man  had  seen  long  before  him,  that  his  dead 
pasf  was  not  quite  dead  to  him.  The  record 
of  his  earlier  life  was  a  dark  one.  It  would 
take  years  and  years,  he  felt,  to  live  ir  down. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better,  even,  if  he  should 
go  abroad,  somewhere  in  the  South  Pacific 
Islands,  where  one  wore  goat-skins  and  lived 
on  cocoanuts  and  bananas,  and  where  the  natives 
still  fought  among  themselves  and  resorted  to 
cannibalism,  and  where  there  was  always  good 
swimming,  and  sharks'  fins  for  dinner. 

The  South  Sea  Islands  being  out  of  the 
question.  Lonely  did  the  next  best  thing,  and 
penetrated  to  the  terra  incognita  of  the  Upper 
River  Tile  Works,  where  he  went  about  among 
the  stolid  laborers,  reminding  them  of  the 
general  depravity  of  their  ways  and  the  utter 
sinfulness  of  their  speech,  —  until  he  was 
picked  up  bodily  and  placed  on  a  wheelbarrow 
covered  with  blue  clay,  and  dumped  alertly 
and  ignominiously  into  the  river. 

"Come  agin  !  "  bawled  down  the  burly  day- 
kneader  after  him. 


210         LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

Lonely  gasped  and  puffed,  and  struck  out 
into  deeper  water. 

"  Yes,  I  will  come  again,"  he  cried  back, 
defiantly,  treading  water,  "  and  you  '11  be  sorry 
for  it ! " 

"  And  what  will  yez  do,  bein*  in  such  a 
state  o'  grace  ? "  taunted  the  other,  leaning 
Titan-like  on  his  grimy  barrow. 

"  Wait,  and  you  '11  see  !  1  in  a  state  of 
grace — but  —  but  mebbe  it  won't  last!"  he 
added,  darkly. 

It  was  only  the  advent  of  Mr.  Sampson's 
regular  Wednesday  evening  meeting  that  kept 
Lonely  from  wavering  from  the  narrow  path 
once  trodden  by  the  saints.  As  had  been 
requested  of  him,  he  came  promptly  on  time, 
with  his  hair  once  more  slicked  down  and 
a  pensive  smile  once  more  playing  about  his 
sad  young  lips. 

The  murmur  of  wonder  and  approval  which 
greeted  his  appearance  was  uncommonly  like 
the  first  taste  of  blood  to  a  rampant  young 
tiger. 

His  mood  of  Massochistic  humility  passed 
away  from  him  ;  the  old  intoxicating  passion 
to  be  in  the  lead,  the  old  madness  to  excel 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION 


211 


came  over  him,  and  by  the  time  he  was  called 
on  to  speak  out,  candidly  and  unreservedly, 
his  eye  was  dilated,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his 
hands  fidgety  and  clammy. 

One  fragmentary  sentence,  vague,  cabalistic, 
impenetrable,  trom  the  previous  Sunday's  ser- 
mon, was  still  ringing  in  his  ears. 

"  To  be  under  conviction  of  Sin  has  always 
been  the  first  of  the  formal  steps  that  ended 
in  conversion  to  the  Newer  and  Higher 
Life ! " 

And  he  was  under  conviction  of  sin,  sin 
deeper  and  darker  than  the  mind  of  man  could 
conceive,  as  he  told  his  hearers  at  the  begin- 
ning of  his  tempestuous  and  passionate  per- 
oration. And  he  went  on  with  his  confession 
of  guilt,  each  iniquity  seeming  to  be  more  and 
more  elaborated  and  dwelt  on  and  fondled  over, 
until  he  appeared  to  glory  in  his  own  utter  de- 
pravity. But  so  exultant  did  his  evil  become, 
so  hopeless  his  utter  diabolism,  that  he  was 
gently  but  sternly  interrupted  by  the  I'reacher 
himself,  who  obviated  an  impending  torrent 
of  righteous  indignation  by  promptly  calling  on 
Miss  Mehetabel  Wilkins  to  address  the  meet- 
ing. 


212  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 


Lonely  held  up  a  hand,  airily,  as  though  to 
warn  bacic  the  preacher,  the  impatient  Miss 
Mehetabel,  and  the  glowering  and  justly  out- 
raged widow  Tiffins. 

"But  that  ain't  all  —  oh,  that  ain't  all!" 
the  rapt  bc  j  went  on,  shrilly  and  breathlessly, 
intent  on  unburdening  to  the  uttermost  his 
blackened  young  soul.  "  When  old  Br —  - 
I  mean,  when  Mister  Brennan  found  that 
garter-snake  in  his  ice-box,  who  put  it  there  ? 
Who  broke  the  three  panes  o*  glass  in  Judge 
Eby's  conservat'ry  ?  Who  shot  and  et  the 
Gubtills'  rooster,  and  stole  bologny,  and  cussed 
and  swore  and  lied  and  smoked  and  let  the 
steam  out  o'  the  sawmill  ingin  ?  Who  put  the 
womper  in  Widow  Tiffins's  cistern?  Who — " 

But  precisely  at  this  juncture,  a  pregnant 
glance  having  passed  between  Ezra  Sampson 
and  the  glowering  widow,  the  latter  seized 
Lonely  by  one  prominent  ear,  and  sweeping 
down  the  narrow  aisle  with  him,  plumped  him 
vigorously  and  humiliatingly  into  one  of  the 
empty  wooden  benches. 

There  Lonely,  finding  himself  disgraced  and 
undone  by  a  sudden  spasm  of  unncplainable 
weeping,  fled  miserably  away  from  the  flaring 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  213 

lights  and  the  circle  of  wondering  onlookers, 
—  fled  shame^ed  out  through  the  open  door 
into  the  cool  night  air,  where  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  awakened  from  a  dream,  and  only 


HE  WAS  PUT  IN  THE  INFANT  CLASS 


the  prickling  closeness  of  his  Sunday  best 
clothes  told  him  it  was  a  painful  reality. 

Yet  he  still  groped  blindly  after  his  unat- 
tainable ideal.  Indeed,  in  fulfillment  of  an  ear- 
lier promise,  he  appeared  at  Sunday  School  on 
the  following  Sabbath  afternoon.  There,  after 
a  course  of  brief  questioning,  in  which  it  de- 
veloped that  he  knew  neither  any  three  of  the 
Ten  Commandments  nor  anything  whatever 


214         LONELY  O'MALLEY 

of  the  Shorter  Catechism,  he  was  put  in  the 
infant  class,  along  with  gorgeously  appareled 
little  girls  of  six  and  seven,  and  squirming  lit- 
tle hoys  who  still  wore  dresses  and  sailor 
collars. 

This  was  too  much  for  Lonely  O'Malley, 
who  had  nursed  visions  of  standing  up  beside 
the  Superintendent,  and  eloquently  telling  the 
entire  school  the  full  and  truthful  history  of 
his  conversion,  and  the  depths  of  crimes  and 
wrong-doing  from  which  he  had  been  rescued. 
During  this  recountal,  he  thought,  he  would 
sway  the  multitude  with  the  force  of  his  elo- 
quence, and  little  girls  would  gasp  and  cry  to 
be  taken  out,  and  little  boys  would  wag  their 
heads  knowingly  at  erch  iniquitous  detail  from 
the  pages  of  his  past  life,  and  after  that  all  the 
teachers  would  shake  hands  with  him,  and  the 
prettiest  one  of  them  all  would  invite  him  home 
to  tea,  where  they  would  have  cheese-cakes 
and  hot  muffins  and  pop-overs  and  strawberry 
jam  in  abundance. 

That  was  the  vision  which  had  floated  be- 
fore the  self-effacing  Lonely  O'Malley 's  eyes; 
when,  in  reality,  he  found  himself  thrust  down 
into  the  lowest  depths  of  the  lowest  class, 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  215 

among  a  serried  swarm  of  tongue>tied  babies 
and  mincing  girls,  who  did  not  even  know  the 
name,  let  alone  the  record,  of  the  new  Cham- 
pion of  Right  in  their  unsuspecting  midst. 

Lonely  grew  fretful  and  irritable,  and  made 
paste  balls  of  his  lesson  leaflet,  and  sternly 
fought  back  the  vague  wish  that  he  might 
escape  to  the  swimming-hole  for  one  good 
dive  off  the  new  spring-board  and  then  a  back- 
drop or  two  off  the  old  sycamore  roots. 

His  new  teacher  somewhat  sharply  re- 
quested him  kindly  not  to  fidget  so  much,  and 
asked  him  if  he  always  squinted  that  way, 
and  seemed  astonished  that  a  big  boy  like  him 
should  not  know  that  Jordan  was  a  river. 

And  to  cap  the  climax  she  irritably  stopped 
Lonely  (who  had  for  the  moment  forgotten 
his  sorrows  in  the  beguiling  intricacies  of  an 
entirely  new  church  tune)  from  joining  in 
an(  :r  verse  of  the  closing  hymn,  if  he  could 
sing  no  better  than  he  was  doing." 

The  shame  and  ignominy  of  it  all  was  too 
much  for  Lonely 's  pride.  It  struck  the  last 

'  of  Lcnely's  obsessions  was  the  fixed  idea  that  he 
—  the  luneless  and  tone-deaf  —  was  some  day  to  lead  an 
orchestra. 


2i6         LONELY  O'M ALLEY 


blow  at  the  root  of  his  altruism.  He  guessed 
he  was  one  of  those  who  lived  by  the  sword, 
as  the  verse  in  Revelation  had  said,  and  he 
guessed,  too,  he  was  going  to  die  by  the 
sword  1 

There  was  no  sudden  and  moving  climax 
to  his  fall.  It  came  slowly,  surely,  and  yet 
inevitably.  The  over-thick  lees  from  the  fer- 
menting wine  of  life  fell  away  and  settled  once 
more.  And  he  'vent  back  to  his  old  pagan  tra- 
dition and  his  old  pagan  code.  Perhaps  he 
was  not  unhappier  for  it.  At  any  rate  he  was 
freer  and  more  natural ;  there  was  no  attitudin- 
izing and  primping,  no  more  morbid  intro- 
spection and  self-abasement. 

And  even  though  there  may  be  those  who 
claim  that  Lonely  went  back  among  the  un- 
regenerate,  it  was  not  that  our  poor  hero  stood 
an  especially  and  hopelessly  bad  boy :  it  was 
only  the  code  that  was  wrong,  the  tradition  that 
was  still  pagan  and  puerile. 

But  from  this  time  forward  there  was  a 
change  in  Lonely  O'MalLy.  He  had  emerged 
dank  and  sodden  from  those  darkest  and  yet 
those  divinest  currents  of  human  feeling, 
and  it  was  to  be  many  a  long  day  before  that 


LONELY  GETS  RELIGION  217 

ablution  flowered  into  anything  more  tangible 
than  a  deep-seated  hatred  for  antimacassars, 
rockaways,  and  Sunday  School  books  of  the 
Agatha  Doring  type. 

It  is  also  worthy  of  record  that  he  packed 
away,  with  that  solemn  and  studious  sense  of 
finality  which  should  mark  all  last  burials,  his 
tight-fitting  and  prick  little  black  suit,  once 
proudly  known  as  his  "  Sunday  Best."  He 
buried  it  deep  in  his  mother's  bottom  bureau 
drawer,  under  many  layers  of  faded  winter 
blankets.  And  he  hoped  with  all  his  heart  and 
soul  that  he  would  never  see  the  darned  old 
rags  again ! 

"  Oi>,  me  poor  boy!  "  sighed  Lonely's  mother, 
as  she  came  upon  them  once,  many  a  year 
later,and  carefully  refolded  and  replaced  them, 
bedewed  with  a  seemingly  inconsequential  tear 
0/  two. 


But  your  eyes  were  turned  to  tbt  fluting  bird. 
And  your  brow  zvui  dratvii  uith  thought  i 

And  I  pulled  six  daisies  out  of  the  turf 
And  asked  far  the  thing  you  sought. 

*  That  soUmn  old  bird, ' '  you  idly  mused, 

"  He''s  singing  the  whole  das  long  — 
That  silly  old  bird —  what  good  zvill  it  be 
To  him,  when  he  ends  his  song!" 


CHAPTKR  VI 11 


In  which  Ltntly  uUs  a  Story  or  two 

LONKLY  had  just  made  a  new  box-kite 
for  himself,  and  having  borrowed  the 
entire  stock  of  wrapping-string  from  the  bake- 
shop  to  give  it  ample  wind-room,  it  now  hung 
a  little  dot  of  white  high  up  in  the  tremulous 
blue  of  the  early  afternoon  sky. 

It  was  the  end  of  June,  and  the  last  day  of 
school.  In  an  hour  or  two  the  turbulent  classes 
would  be  tumbling  joyously  out  to  their  final 
freedom,  and  great  undertakings  would  soon 
be  on  foot,  and  plans  made,  and  journeys  pro- 
jected, and  grave  secrets  passed  from  friend 
to  trusted  friend.  Already  timid  little  boys, 
in  the  general  carnival  spirit  which  crept  over 
the  sleepy  little  gray  kitten  of  a  town,  were 
flipping  notes  across  the  aisle  to  properly 
indignant  little  girls,  who  wrote  "  Smarty  "  on 
a  slip  of  paper  and  flipped  it.  back.  Already 
young  orators  were  stutteringly  delivering 
themselves  of  their  disjointed  recitations,  and 
an  ink-well  or  two  was  being  emptied  down 


222  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

somebody's  back,  and  the  ubiquitous  "  spit- 
ball  "  was  being  volleyed  back  and  forth.  Ana 
Lonely,  knowing  that  his  long- imprisoned 
knights  and  retainers  would  soon  be  flocking 
about  him,  was  dreamily  content  with  life  and 
his  box-kite,  sleepily  watching  the  fleck  of 
white  as  it  floated  up  in  the  blue  ether,  hazily 
wondering  if  his  flying-machine  would  ever 
soar  to  such  heights  with  him,  and  even  more 
hazily  speculating  as  to  whether  or  not  one 
could  ever  slip  into  heaven,  with  just  the  right 
sort  of  air-.>hip,  especially  if  one  made  a  suffi- 
ciently wide  circle  about  two  ominous  black 
oak  chairs  (with  fleecy  clouds  drifting  slowly  in 
and  out  between  their  legs)  whereon  sat  the  two 
figures,  writing  with  goose-quill  pens. 

Annie  Eliza  appeared  on  the  edge  of  the 
Common,  saw  the  kite,  and  approached  Lonely 
purringly,  toeing-in  as  she  came.  Two  days 
before,  at  a  tea-party  of  cut-up  green  cucum- 
bers and  carrots,  she  had  confessed  to  Lonely 
her  intention  to  become  a  Trapeze  Lady,  but 
had  expressed  her  willingness  to  give  over  her 
career,  and  follow  Lonely  singly  and  faithfully, 
for  the  trifling  gift  of  Shivers  and  what  re- 
mained of  his  bottle  of  perfume. 


l.ONLI.Y  1  tLLS  A  S 1  ORY  OR  rWO  aij 

I'he  boy  on  the  Common  now  had  the  kite 

tit  !  lown  to  his  sunburnt  bandy-leg,  and  was 
siv.'^i  and  carefully  cutting  out  round  pieces 
of  St! iT  cardboard,  to  be  sent  up  the  taut  kite- 
string  as  " messengers."  \  lis  tongue  was  thrust 
out  a  little  as  he  worked,  ami  it  nioveil  syni- 
patiietically  from  side  to  side  at  every  stroke 
of  his  knife-hlade. 

"Oh,  Lonely,  let  me  feel  how  it  pulls!" 
begged  Annie  KUza,  as  she  crept  up  closer  to 
him,  blinking  raptly  up  at  the  blue  depths  that 
tented  in  her  sunny  world. 

"  Could  n't !  "  he  answered,  curtly. 

"  Just  one  iitt/e  pull  ? " 

Lonely  shook  his  head  resolutely.  I'his 
kite-flying  business  was  not  a  thing  for  girls 
to  get  mixed  up  in:  you  had  to  mind  your  P's 
and  (J's  when  you  were  flying  a  box-kite,  they 
pulled  so  ! 

"  Why, first  thing  you  know  she'd  start  pull- 
in'  extra  hard  —  and  then  where 'd  you  be?" 

"Where?"  echoed  Annie  Lli/a,  drawing 
back  a  little. 

"  Yanked  over  into  the  river,  or  mebhe 
Watterson's  Crick,  before  you  could  remember 
to  let  go ! " 


224         LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

"  Does  it/>«//that  bad?" 

**/  made  it!'*  said  the  kite-flyer,  with 
laconic  self-complacence. 

**  Goodness  gracious ! "  said  Annie  Eliza, 
looking  up  into  the  blue  sky  once  more. 

Lonely  emitted  a  gentle  little  ruminative 
sigh. 

"Why,  that  box-kite  is  nothin'.  I  had  a 
house-kite,  once,  in  Cowansburg,  and  I  had 
Winnie  Douglas  come  and  hold  it  for  me, 
while  I  was  stoppin*  Gilead  from  eatin'  one  o' 
Pop's  harness  traces." 

Whenever  Lonely  O'Malley  saw  red,  as  he 
was  doing  at  that  moment.  Veracity  shuddered 
on  her  throne. 

"  Go  on ! "  said  Annie  Eliza. 

Lonely  tested  the  tension  on  his  kite-string 
critically,  pulled  it  in  a  yard  or  two,  with  a 
great  show  of  exertion,  and  still  further  played 
for  time.  For  Jappie  Barrison  and  Betty  Doyle 
and  the  Bird  girls  were  coming  across  the  Com- 
mon. The  larger  Lonely 's  audience  the  more 
rapt  was  his  recital. 

"  I  left  her  there  holdin'  that  big  house-kite 
o'  mine,"  went  on  Lonely,  "  and  first  thing  1 
knew,  along  came  an  extra  strong  puff  o'  wind. 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  225 

Gee  whittaker !  —  there  was  Winnie  Douglas 
whipped  up  over  the  walnut-trees,  on  the  Cow- 
ansburg  Common,  hangin' 
on  for  all  she  was  worth, 
and  a-hoUerin'  for  nic  to 
come  and  get  her  down, 
hollerin*  away  there  all  the 
time  she  was  driftin*  out  of 
sight ! " 

"  W  — was  she  killed?" 

"Just  her  good  luck 
she  was  n't !  "  commented 
Lonely,  beating  off  the  lee 
coast  of  bewilderment,  and 
heatedly  demanding  of  his 
imagination  just  what  did 
become  of  Miss  Winnie 
Douglas. 

"Was  she  drowned?" 
demanded  Jappie  Barrison. 

"  Nope  1  Just 's  she  was 
goin'  over  Harding's  Hill 
she  hooked  her  toes  on  a 
crab-apple  tree,  and  they 
came  and  got  her  down, with 
ladders!" 


*•  WHIPPED  UP  OVER 
THE  walnut-trees" 


* 


226         LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"Was  she  scared  —  much?"  somebody 
demanded. 

"  Scared !  She  had  to  be  shut  up  in  a  dark 
room,  with  wet  towels  and  things,  to  keep  from 
gettin*  softenin'  of  the  brain  !  " 

"  Tell  us  another  story,"  said  Lulu  Bird, 

"  Who 's  tellin'  stories  ?  "  demanded  the 
indignant  Lonely.  And  as  Lionel  Clarence 
came  panting  up  at  that  moment,  the  Plutarch 
of  Cowansburg  turned  his  attention  to  more 
fitting  company. 

"  Whew  !  She  does  pull !  "  cried  the  envious 
Preacher's  son,  as  he  tor  >.  .  ■.  taut  and  hum- 
ming line  in  his  hand. 

Lonely  modestly  conl  i-v.J  that  it  was  n't 
altogether  a  slouch  of  a  kite. 

«  Won't  you  tell  us  another  story  ? "  reiter- 
ated Lulu  Bird,  patiently,  as  the  three  girls  sat 
down  and  spread  out  their  skirts  about  Lonely. 

A  look  passed  between  the  two  boys,  tele- 
pathic, fleeting,  and  yet  eloquent. 

"  You  might  as  well,"  said  one  look. 

"  What 's  the  use?  "  said  the  other. 

"  Tell  them  about  the  time  that  she-lion  got 
loose  in  Cowansburg,"  suggested  Lionel  Clar- 
ence, to  whom  the  tale  had  been  graphically 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  227 

recounted,  a  month  or  two  before,  up  in  the 
O'Mallcy  haymow. 

"Oh-  that  was  nothin'  much,"  deprecated 
Lonely. 

"  Was  it  a  mad  Hon  ?  "  inquired  Lulu  Bird. 
"Just  a  common  man-eater,"  explained 
Lonely. 

A  sudden  shrill  chorus  of  cries  bore  wit- 
ness to  the  fact  that  school  was  out ;  and 
two  minutes  later  scattered  bands  of  children 
were  racing  and  curveting  out  into  the  green 
freedom  of  the  Common.  Old  Witherspoon, 
the  town  constable,  eyed  them  closely,  for  ex- 
perience had  taught  him  that  on  such  occasions 
law  and  order  were  often  forgotten. 

Cap'n  Steiner  and  Cap'n  Sands  hobbled 
across  the  greensward  to  a  shady  seat  close  be- 
side the  kite-flier.  A  tug  puffed  and  churned 
noisily  down  on  the  river ;  a  robin  fiuted  and 
trebled  and  piped  across  the  breezy  afternoon. 
It  was  a  good  world  to  be  sdive  in. 

"  Go  on  with  abcnit  the  Iton,"  commanded 
Jappie  Harrison. 

A  curious  boy  or  two  joined  the  circle  of 
listeners,  and  having  critically  tested  the  pull 
of  the  new  box-kite,  clustered  indolently  about 


228  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

Lonely,  and  kicked  their  languid  heels  and 
chewed  at  the  sweetish  white  inner  stalks  of  the 
Common  grass. 

"  See  if  you  can  make  goose-flesh  come  on 
Pinkie  Ball,"  suggested  Lulu  Bird,  encourag- 
ingly. 

Pinkie  Ball  was  an  easily  impressed  and 
somewhat  emotional  little  boy  upon  whom  all 
tales  of  horror  brought  the  creeps.  When 
Pinkie's  skin  showed  "goose-flesh,"  during  the 
telling  of  a  ghost-story,  the  artist  knew  that 
all  was  going  well  with  his  work. 

"  I  won't  stay,  if  it 's  goin'  to  be  about 
ghosts  !  "  wailed  Pinkie,  showing  signs  of  ter- 
ror, yet  irresistibly  chained  to  the  spot. 

The  central  figure  of  the  little  circle  grew 
impatient. 

It  was  only  something  that  happened  to 
me  over  in  Cowansbui^,"  he  said,  ofiP-hand. 
"  To  me  and  a  man-eatin*  lion  over  there." 

Lonely  drank  in  the  silence  that  followed. 
A  sufficiently  dramatic  pause  having  elapsed, 
he  went  on. 

"I  was  just  pikin'  home  from  Connor's 
grocery,  with  half  a  pound  of  allspice,  and 
half  a  pound  of  cinnamon  and  black  pepper, 


230 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


and  a  lot  of  stuff  like  that.  I  was  just  pikin' 
along  home,  when  some  men  ran  past  me, 
wavin'  their  arms  and  tcllin'  me  to  look  out. 
They  did  n't  stop  to  say  what  for,  but  just 
scratched  gravel  for  all  they  was  worth.  Gol- 
ley,  how  that  old  fat  man  did  run ! "  broke 
in  Lonely,  with  a  reminiscent  light  in  his 
eye. 

"Well,  first  thing  I  knew  there  wasn't  a 
soul  to  be  seen  on  the  streets,  and  I  says  to 
myself,  that  there  pickle  factory's  on  fire 
again.  And  I  was  just  walkin'  along  between 
the  two  rows  of  empty  houses,  wonderin'  what 
on  earth  was  up,  when  I  turned  round  the  cor- 
ner, careless-like  —  and  /  saw  something  standin' 
there  in  front  of  me  !  " 

«  It  —  it  was  n't  the  lion  ? "  gasped  Pinkie. 

Lonely  paid  no  attention  to  the  interrup- 
tion, tending  even  as  it  did  to  anticipate  his 
coming  climax. 

"  I  stopped  stockstill,  and  felt  my  hair  stand 
on  end,  and  looked.  Then  I  rubbed  my  eyes, 
and  looked  again.  But  still  That  Thing  stood 
there,  right  in  front  of  me,  with  its  teeth 
showin',  and  its  tail  lashin'  from  side  to  side, 
and  its  mane  all  bristlin'  up." 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  231 

*'  Then  it  was  a  lion ! "  gasped  Pinkie, 
triumphantly. 

"  Quick  as  a  wink  I  could  see  why  all  those 
men  had  scooted  out.  It  was  one  of  the  lions 
got  loose  from  the  circus  tent,  a  real  Assinian 
lion  1 " 

"  An  Abyssinian  lion  !  "  corrected  Lionel 
Clarence. 

"  I  always  shorten  it  up,  to  save  time,"  said 
the  explicit  historian,  testily. 

"  Well,  go  on,"  said  Jappie  Barrison. 

"  I  stood  there  hc\VL  that  lion,  wonderin' 
what  to  do,  when  I  saw  him  kind  o'  hunch 
up  and  get  ready  to  spring.  I  was  n't  exactly 
scart ;  I  was  just  mad  at  bein'  stopped  on  my 
way  home,  when  Pop  told  me  to  hustle.  So, 
as  I  saw  that  lion  was  gettin'  ready  to  jump, 
I  just  up  with  my  package  of  pepper,  and  let 
him  have  it  square  in  the  nose  !  " 

A  murmur  of  surprise  ran  around  the  little 
circle. 

Lonely  laughed  dreamily  at  the  memory  of 
the  episode,  absent-mindedly  testing  his  kite- 
string  as  he  went  on. 

"  How  that  old  lion  did  r'arup!  I  jumped  off 
to  one  side,  just  as  he  made  his  spring.  It  came 


232         LONELY  O'MALLEY 

out  about  as  I  had  figgered.  All  that  pepper 'd 
made  the  lion  as  blind  as  a  bat !  And  when 
he  turned  round  and  jumped  for  me  again,  I  was 
twenty  feet  off  to  one  side,  watchin'  him  sneeze 
as  he  come  down !  and  there  he  was,  jumpin* 
and  jumpin*,  not  knowin'  where  I  was !  " 

"  Could  n't  he  smell  you  ? "  demanded  Lulu 
Bird. 

"Smell  nothin',  —  with  a  pound  o'  black 
pepper  up  his  nose  ?  He  just  kept  roarin'  and 
howlin'  round  there  and  jumpin'  for  the  spot 
where  he 'd  seen  me  last.  So  when  I  seen  I 'd 
fixed  him  all  right,  I  sent  word  up  to  the  cir- 
cus folks  to  come  and  get  their  animal.  And 
when  they  come  hustlin'  up  with  the  cage,  I 
showed  *em  just  where  he  was  goin'  to  make 
his  next  jump.  So  they  slipped  the  cage  up 
where  1  showed  'em.  Next  jump  he  landed 
clean  inside;  and  there  he  was,  shut  in  neat  as 
a  whistle." 

"  But  I  got  a  great  old  lickin'  when  I  got 
home,"  added  the  impartial  and  impersonal 
historian,  "for  lettin'  the  chili  sauce  get 
spoiled,  for  want  of  them  spices  !  " 

"Tel!  us  another  story!"  reiterated  the 
over-ingenuous  Lulu  Bird. 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  233 

"Something  about  ghosts,"  suggested 
Jappie  Barrison. 

"YouVc  never  seen  one  o'  thmt  have 
you  ? "  demanded  Pinkie. 

Lonely  looked  around,  apprehensively. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  hct  that  his  glance 
meant  to  convey  to  them  that  it  was  a  good 
thing  it  was  broad  daylight,  and  they  were 
there  all  together  on  the  Common. 

"  I  had  a  ghost  folly '  me  once,"  said  Lonely, 
dropping  his  voice. 

"  Go  on  !  "  said  Lionel  Clarence. 

Lonely  shook  his  head  disapprovingly. 

"  I  don't  like  talkin'  about  that  kind  o* 

'  Lonely,  I  might  here  add,  had  in  his  vocabulary  cer- 
tain words  all  his  own.  Thin,  he  always  saitl  '«  folly  "  for 
*'  follow."  In  the  same  way  something  always  •«  snuk  up 
on  him  ;  "  a  ««  drizzly  day  "  was  a  "  grizzly  day  "  to  him; 
he  described  the  process  of  rinsing  as  "wrenching;"  a 
"  ripple  "  on  the  water  was  always  a  "  rifHe;  "  by  «« kill- 
dec,"  of  coutfe,  he  meant  a  "kill-deer;"  and  anything 
that  was  superlatively  fine  was  always  "slickcry."  Like- 
wise, he  was  often  heard  to  ejaculate  :  "  Don't  brandy 
words  with  me! "  "  Noise,"  to  him,  was  always  "  noinse," 
"lightning"  was  "lightling,"  and  his  "shoulder"  was 
invariably  his  "  soldier."  The  ward  "  vinegar  "  was  hope- 
lessly beyond  him. 


234         LONELY  CMALLEY 

thing.  It  ain*t  always  safe!"  he  added,  husk- 
ily, meaningly. 

Pinkie  Ball  began  to  worm  his  way  back 
into  the  outer  circle. 

**  Oh,  go  0»  /  *'  said  one  of  the  bolder  spirits, 
impatiently. 

Lonely  hunched  up  one  of  his  shoulders  in 
a  shrug  that  plainly  intimated  that  their  blood 
was  to  be  on  their  own  heads,  should  disaster 
befall  them. 

"  It  was  in  the  old  Guiney  house,  that 
stood  just  about  a  mile  outside  o'  Cowans- 
burg,"  began  Lonely,  slowly.  "  "That  bouse 
was  banted!  " 

Ominous  shakes  of  the  head  followed  this 
declaration. 

"  None  of  the  town  gang 'd  go  near  it,  not 
even  to  gather  walnuts.  And  there  was  bushels 
of  *em  goin*  to  waste  there,  for  the  house  was 
empty,  and  even  grown  folks  wouldn't  pry 
round  there  none,  I  can  tell  you  I  And  it  was 
so  dark  and  quiet  and  lonesome-like  that 
when  you  shoved  in  through  the  bushes,  and 
you  put  your  foot  on  a  stick,  and  it  cracked 
—  why,  the  sound 'd  nearly  make  you  jump 
out  of  your  skin.  Well,  Speck  Litsey  and  me 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  235 

decided  we  were  a-goin'  to  find  out  about  that 
ghost.  Saturdays  we 'd  crawl  in  through  the 
fence,  and  wriggle  in  past  the  burdocks,  and 
shove  through  the  bushes,  and  each  time  we 'd 
get  able  to  come  a  little  nearer  to  the  house 
itself  without  tumin'  tail  every  minute  a  squir- 
rel ran  up  a  tree. 

"Well,  Speck  and  me  were  nosin'  round 
there  one  Saturday  afternoon,  wonderin'  what 
made  that  house  look  so  uncommon  like  a  big 
white  tombstone,  when  Speck  drops  flat  down 
on  his  stummick,  injun-fashion,  and  pulls  me 
down  after  him.  '  Did  you  see  her  ? '  he 
whispers  to  me,  kind  o*  blue  around  the  gills, 
and  shakin*  as  though  he  had  the  fever-' n-ague. 

*  What  ? '  I  says,  tryin'  to  look  up  through 
the  bushes.  But  Speck,  he  hauled  me  down. 

*  Don't  you  take  no  risks  like  that,  Lonely,' 
he  says,  with  his  teeth  a-shakin*.  And  1  began 
to  feel  kind  o'  creepish  and  queer-like,  it  was 
b^nnin'  to  get  so  dark  and  quiet  in  there. 
Then  Speck  he  says  *Hssssh ! '  all  of  a  sudden, 
and  I  peeked  up  through  the  mullein  and 
ragweed,  and  then  /  seen  it !  " 

"What  was  it?"  demanded  Pinkie  Ball, 
with  blanching  cheeks. 


236  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

"  It  was  a  woman,  all  dressed  m  vi^hite, 
walkin*  round  and  round  and  rr  iiiid  die  hi^me, 
moantn'  and  wringin'  her  hands,  and  c  vin' 
sonwthing  awful.  But  tinc  was  n't  alL  WKcr 
^e  come  to  the  veramb  latlin',  tastead  <^ 
walkin*  round  it,  or  dimbin'  ovei^  it,  she  jttsi 
walked  right  through  tit  smme  as  tt^ugh  it  w  * 
smoke ! 

"*  1  guess  I  'II  cii  f'r  home! '  Spee,.  savs 
to  me,  drawin  Hack  uf  >!  ih  tht  .ceds.  i  h.^t 
made  me  kind  ■*  mad  'Speck,'  -  I,  '  'm 
a-goin'  to  fit  out  i^t's  rry.  that  wo- 
man, or  bus      savs  i 

"*  Don't \i)U  lio  it,  I  .ot  y,  sav>^  ^ 'id 
he  b^^n  to  cry,  and  said  i  e  d  give  nu  wo 
pouters  and  a  agate  alley  if  1  'd  go  as  fat  the 
fen^  with  him. 

***A11  right,  Speck,'  lys  I,  'you  gd  home 
if  ytHi  wast  to  Bet  ion't  you  say  nothin' 
this  gho    t<  any  of  the  rest  of  the 

^ng!' 

"  \  s>d  SpcL  promised,  and  crawled 

bat  k  Ehi^oi^  th  hes  a  blamed  sight  quicker 
tiiii  he  '  Gome  n  nd  squeezed  through  the 
fenct  ft  me  there  alone  with  that  woman 

*alkm       nd  and  round  the  house,  wringin' 


'A}>   UY  TELLb  \  STORY  OR  TWO  237 

her  nds  and  carrytn'  on  fit  to  make  your 
hair  siand  up  on  end. 

"  JiMt  to  make  sure  o'  things  before  I  wen 
any  further,  1  gnil)bed  a  good-^ized  stone  ou 
o(  the  old  gra^  e'  valk,  and  let  it  fly  at  he. 
hard  as  I  ccm  30,  just  as  she  come  watlin' 
and  cryin'  roui  corner  of  the  house.  It 
seemed  kind  o'  i  at  first,  hut  if  she  was 
a  reg'ler,  out- and  host,  1  knew  it  wasn't 
goin'  to  do  her  an>  ru.rni,  and  if  she  was  just 
foolin'  and  carryin'  on  that  way  for  show,  she 
would  he  gettin'  what  was  coniin'  to  her. 
W'll,  I  let  drive  right  ar  her,  and  it  took  her 
plum  in  the  waist.  But  it  xvcnt  clean  through 
bety  without  stofpirC  !  And  I  could  see  a  line 
of  sparks  v^ere  it  lit  up  against  the  basement 
stonework,  idnd  o'  blue,  and  sulpliury,  and 
queer-lookin*. 

"  Then  I  minded  hearin'  old  Marm  Wat- 
kins —  she  *s  the  colored  woman  who  used  to 
wash  for  the  Litseys  —  tellin'  Speck  no  ghost 
would  ever  walk  over  a  cross,  and  if  ever  he 
got  caught  overnight  in  a  graveyard,  just  to 
make  a  circle  o'  crosses  round  himself,  and  no 
ha'nt 'd  ever  get  near  him. 

So  1  went  back  to  the  road  fence,  and 


238         LONELY  O'MALLEY 

nailed  two  old  pigots  together,  crossways, 
with  a  hunk  of  stone  for  a  hammer.  Then 
I  crawled  back  and  waited  for  my  chance,  and 
put  that  cross  plum  down  in  the  woman's  path, 
right  between  a  grape-trellis  and  a  corner  of 
the  house,  where  she 'd  have  to  step  over  it, 
for  sure.  Then  I  stood  back  in  the  shadow 
of  the  house,  and  waited  for  her  to  come 
round  to  the  front  again.  And  it  kept  gettin' 
darker  and  darker,  and  I  tell  you  what,  I 
kind  o'  wished  I  was  good  and  safe  out  o' 
that ! 

"When  she  seen  that  cross  the  woman 
stopped,  kind  o'  puzzled  like,  and  looked  up 
kind  o'  fretful,  and  rubbed  her  nose  kind  o' 
inquirin',  and  I  could  hear  her  askin*  herself 
over  and  over  again  why  somebody 'd  killed 
her  that  way  in  cold  blood.  So  I  stepped 
right  out  in  front  of  her,  at  that,  and  asked 
her  what  was  a-troublin'  her  so  much.  She  sud 
•  Land's  sake,  who 's  that  ? '  rubbed  her  nose 
again,  kind  o'  hesitatin',  and  started  backin* 
away.  Then  she  stopped,  and  looked, at  me 
kind  o*  sad  for  about  a  minute.  Then  she  said 
'Folly  me,'  and  led  me  right  into  the  old  white 
house,  and  up  the  old  stairs,  slow  and  solemn, 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  239 

and  pointed  to  a  spot  on  the  front  bedroom 
floor.  And  //  was  blood  !  " 


An  inarticulate  cry  burst  from  the  rapt 
Pinkie,  whose  mouth  was  open  even  as  wide  as 
his  eyes;  Lonely  returned 


*'THBRB  HAt  MIH  tOMK  tOVt  DBBO  DONE  HERE  " 


240  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

was  a  butcher-kni^,  all  covered  with  bloody 
too! 

" '  There  has  been  some  foul  deed  done 
here  ! '  I  says  to  the  woman.  And  she  nodded 

her  head  three  times.  Then  she  told  me  to 
folly  her  again,  and  led  me  all  the  way  down 
through  the  big  dark  house  to  the  cellar,  and  it 
was  jam-crack  full  o'  queer  noinse  in  every 
room  !  Ar!d  she  pointed  at  some  bricks  in  the 
floor  there,  and  made  a  sign  for  me  to  take  'em 
up.  And  when  I 'd  dug  down  for  about  a  foot, 
I  come  across  a  long,  black  coflin.  Gee,  I  felt 
queer.  But  I  was  n't  goin'  to  quit  when  I 'd 
gone  that  far.  So  I  unscrewed  the  top  of  the 
coffin,  and  —  and  —  " 

"  Oh,  you  're  just  trying  to  scire  u? ! "  cried 
the  elder  Bird  girl,  cynically  sktoticn], 

Lonely's  half-closed  eyes  suddenly  opened 
to  their  full  width;  the  dreamer  had  been 
shocked  into  reality ;  this  unexpected  note 
of  unbelief  had  broken  the  bubble  of  his 
ecstasy. 

"  You  shut  up,  Em'ly  Bird  !  "  And  Lonely 
was  begged  not  to  leave  his  tale  standing  at 
such  an  unsatisfying  crisis. 

"  Who  said  1  was  try  in'  to  scare  you  ? " 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STOrV  OR  TWO  24^ 

demanded  the  irate  historian,  however,  eyeing 
thee«9wd,  one  by  one,  indignantly. 

"  I  Mieve  you  were  j\m  makii^  tlwt  all 
up,  Lonely  O'Malley!"  s«d  Ew'ly  Ik  a, 
stoutly. 

"  Oh,  go  on,  Londy ! "  «ned  Betty  Doyk. 
"  Em'ly  always  does  try  to  spoil  everyt^ag  f  * 

Instead  of  going  on,  Lonely  slowly  aoi  de- 
liberately reached  behind  him,  and  from  s<Hne 
mysterious  vent  in  the  neighborhood  of  his 
hip-pocket  drew  forth  a  long-bladed  hutcher- 
knifc,  still  stained  and  marked  w  irh  great  black 
blotches,  which  any  one  with  half  an  eye  could 
see  was  blood. 

"  There 's  the  knife,  to  prove  it !  "  he  said, 
with  a  proud  unconcern  of  mind,  as  it  passed 
gingerly  from  hand  to  hand.  And  then  he 
added  bitterly,  half  to  himself,  "That's  the 
trouble  of  tellin'  things  to  kitis  !  " 

From  all  quarters  he  was  flattered  and  fawned 
over  and  begged  to  go  on  with  his  recountal. 
But  he  was  obdurate,  and  would  tell  nothing 
more,  beyond  dropping  a  tantalizing  hint  that 
he  guessed  they 'd  like  to  know  how  he 
screwed  that  ghost  down  in  her  coffin,  and 
just  what  happened  after  that.  He  was  even 


242         LONELY  O'MALLEY 


offered  a  weasel  and  two  laying  hens,  out  and 
out,  if  he  would  recount  in  secret  to  the 
inquisitive  but  briefly  unimaginative  Piggie 
Brennan  the  final  details  of  that  adventure  with 
the  sorrow-laden  ghost.  At  this  offer,  of  course, 
Lonely  shook  a  listless  and  disdainful  head, 
and  he  only  felt  the  edge  of  his  blood-stained 
knife  cogitatively,  as  Em'ly  Bird  asserted  her 
firm  belief  that  the  story  never  did  have  an 
end,  anyway  —  which  may  have  been  truer  than 
most  of  that  disgruntled  audience  realized. 

Old  Ezra  Witherspoon,  the  town  constable, 
beholding  that  silent  little  group  clustered 
about  the  boy,  inwardly  surmised  that  mischief 
of  some  sort  was  brewing,  and  turned  his  steps 
in  the  direction  of  Lonely,  as  that  guileless 
youth  slipped  his  long-bladed  knife  deftly 
back  into  its  secret  pocket. 

"  Oh,  here's  that  oldfossil  again  !  "exclaimed 
Lulu  Bird,  testily  and  not  inaudibly,  as  the 
impassive  old  constable  proceeded  to  make 
himself  at  home  on  the  outskirts  of  the  little 
crowd.  Lulu  Bird  and  the  constable  had  had 
a  misunderstanding,  of  late,  as  to  the  ravaging 
of  a  certain  pansy-bed  in  the  Park. 

"  Fossil  —  what 's  a  fossil  ?  "  asked  Pinkie. 


244  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

And  an  erratic  yet  fierce  discussion  straight- 
way ensued  as  to  whether  a  fossil  was  a  piece 
of  petrified  wood,  or  just  common  flint 
rock. 

Their  disjointed  talk  seemed  to  bring  certain 
memories  back  to  the  reawakening  Lonely, 
now  lying  stretched  out  on  the  warm  grass. 

"  You  kids  ever  see  a  real  petrifyin'  spring  ? " 
he  asked,  sleepily,  as  he  lifted  a  languid  arm 
and  sent  a  cardboard  "  messenger  "  humming 
up  the  vibrant  kite-string. 

There  was  a  further  and  fiercer  dispute  as 
to  whether  or  not  petrifying  springs  were  a 
mere  thing  of  the  foolish  imagination,  —  at 
all  of  which  Lonely  smiled  loftily  and  for- 
bearingly. 

"  Never  heard  of  the  Catfish  Petrifyin' 
Spring  up  near  Cowansburg?"  he  demanded. 
They  of  course  never  had. 

"  And  I  s'pose  some  o'  you  will  be  savin' 
the  Injuns  never  used  to  soak  their  arrowheads 
in  it,  to  turn  'em  into  stone  ?  ** 

Had  the  excellent  Lonely  ever  seen  this 
spring?  Or  had  any  article  of  this  excellent 
Lonely's  ever  been  turned  into  stone  therein  ? 

Lonely  gave  over  placidly  and  philosophic- 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  245 

ally  tickling  his  own  nose  with  a  feathery  tim- 
othy-head, and  said  that  of  course  he  had  seen 
it,  and  that  he  had  hardened  mud  marbles  in 

it,  many  a  time. 

"  But  I  thought  it  took  years  and  years  to 
petrify  a  thing ! "  protested  the  doubting 
Lionel  Clarence. 

"Not  in  the  Catfish  Spring,"  said  Lont-ly, 
with  much  decision.  "  Why,  Bart  Connelly 
went  in  swimmin'  in  that  spring  three  or  four 
times,  and  he  got  so  stiff  in  the  knees  you 
could  hear  him  creak  when  he  walked  —  from 
gettin'  petrified  in  the  joints,  folks  said  !  " 

Had  the  excellent  Lonely  heard  of  any 
other  prodigious  thing  effected  by  the  Catfish 
Spring  ?  And  the  circle  drew  closer  about  him 
once  more. 

"  Yes,  folks  was  always  gettin'  in  trouble 
about  that  spring,"  went  on  Lonely,  with  that 
meditative  half  drawl  which  was  apt  to  mark 
his  purely  creative  moments.  "  An  Uncle  Si 
of  mine,  who  got  his  ankle  sprained  jumpin* 
off"  a  load  o'  barley,  thought  the  spring  would 
be  a  good  place  to  take  down  the  swellin'. 
None  o'  this  hanged  petrifyin'  talk  was  ever 
goin'  to  keep  him  from  soakin'  his  foot  in  the 


246  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


coldest  runnin'  water  in  the  county,  he  says, 
and  evenin's  he  used  to  go  down  to  the  spring 
and  let  that  petrifyin*  water  run  over  his  ankle- 
bone.  It  kept  gettin'  stifFer  and  stiffer,  and  he 
kept  gettin'  crankier  and  crankier,  and  one 
night  he  went  to  Hck  my  goat  Gilead,  for 
eatin'  up  a  pair  of  his  galluses.  It  was  a  pretty 
hard  kick.  It  hit  Gilead  all  right ;  but  Uncle 
Si's  foot  snapped  off,  just  like  a  piece  of  mar- 
ble—  petrified  clean  through  ! 

"  Then  when  the  Johnsons'  new  hired  man 
got  a  sunstroke  chasin'  my  goat  out  of  a  bean- 
field,  and  had  to  wash  his  head  every  day,  to 
keep  down  fits,  he  used  to  go  to  the  Catfish 
Spring,  *cau  f  the  water  was  so  cool  and  slickery 
there.  About  the  third  time  he  *d  washed  his 
head  in  that  water  his  hair  began  to  stiffen 
up.  Next  day  it  rubbed  off  like  a  lot  o' 
mortar." 

A  stimulating  little  murmur  of  wonder 
flowed  and  ebbed  through  the  circle. 

"  But  that  ain't  the  queerest  thing  that 
happened  about  that  spring.  One  of  the 
women  folks  on  the  next  farm  put  a  six-pound 
roll  of  butter  down  in  the  spring,  to  get  it 
kind  o'  cool  and  hard,  and  when  she  come 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  247 

back  for  it,  next  day,  there  was  her  butter, 
coated  with  about  half  an  inch  o'  limestone. 
How  I  come  to  know  about  that  was  b'cause 
she  went  to  Pop  and  said  I 'd  hooked  her 
butter  and  gone  and  chucked  a  stone  down  in 
the  pail,  just  b'cause  she 'd  stopped  me  doin* 
my  Spanish  buil-baidn*  act  with  their  heifer. 
Well,  the  funniest  part  about  all  this  here  rum- 
pus was  that  she  slung  that  stone  away,  and 
about  a  week  later  old  man  Johnson  gathered 
it  up  for  the  new  chimney  he  was  buildin'. 
Now,  maybe  you  kids  won't  believe  it,  but 
that  stone  was  built  right  in  the  new  fireplace. 
That  night  when  they  were  havin'  a  kind  of 
a  house-warmin'  or  something  like  th  the 
heat  from  the  burnin'  logs  bust  the  stone,  and, 
gee  whittaker,  down  runs  about  six  pounds  o' 
grease.  It  puzzled  old  man  Johnson  a  good 
deal,  and  I  had  a  talk  with  him  about  it,  and 
we  both  decided  if  there  was  one  stone  it;  that 
neighborhood  bearin'  oil,  there  ought  to  be 
a  heap  more.  So  old  Johnson,  he  went  around 
for  about  a  week,  with  a  hand-drill,  tappin* 
about  every  old  hard-head  on  the  farm  !  " 

Lonely  seemed  to  chuckle  inwardly  over 
the  memory  of  it  all,  murmuring  placidly  to 


248 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


himself:  "  And  I  guess  I  got  even  with  the 
old  stiff,  for  a-t»tllin'  about  me  swimmin*  in 
the  reservoir ! " 

And  again  Lonely  chuckled  to  himself, 
though  the  drift  of  it  all  seemed  slightly  above 
the  heads  of  his  auditors. 

"  But  the  out-and-out  worst  thing  that 
happened  about  that  Catfish  Spring  was  the 
time    the    Johnson    baby  got  lost.  They 
couldn't  find  that  baby  anywheres,  though 
they  hunted  for  days,  and  then  for  weeks. 
And  in  the  end  they  all  thought  it  must  have 
been  carried  off  by  gypsies,  or  mebbe  the  cir- 
cus folks  had  got  it.  Well,  one  day  the  hired 
man  let  go  his  holt  on  the  water-jug,  as  he 
was  dippin*  out  of  the  spring,  and  he  had  to 
get  the  garden-rake  to  fish  it  out.  He  got  the 
rake-teeth  caught  on  the  jug  all  right  —  least 
so  it  seemed  to  him,  but  that  jug  appeared 
uncommon  heavy  to  him.  It  was  about  all  he 
could  do,  I  guess,  to  get  her  to  the  top.  He 
made  a  grab  down  to  catch  it  before  it  sunk, 
and  the  first  thing  he  knew  he  bad  grabbed 
hold  of  a  stone  hand!  " 

Lonely  had  a  trick  of  making  his  voice  go 
hollow  and  low,  when  he  delivered  himself  of 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TW( )  249 

a  climactic  sentence ;  and  there  was  another 
uneasy  stir  among  the  circle  of"  listeners. 

"  It  —  it  was  n't  the  baby,  was  it  ?  "  asked 
Jappie  Barrison,  almost  tremulously. 

"It  was  Johnson's  baby,"  said  Lonely, 
with  impressive  slowness.  "  And  turned  to 
solid  stone,  from  head  to  foot ! 

"  That  hired  man  dropped  her  a  couple  o' 
times — he  was  in  such  a  hustle  to  get  up  to 
the  house  with  the  news  —  and  chipped  a 
piece  or  two  off  her.  But  he  got  her  home, 
and  leaned  her  up  against  a  what-not  in  the 
parlor,  and  called  'em  all  in  to  look  at  her. 
The  old  man  did  n't  have  the  heart  to  bury 
that  baby,  it  seemed  so  natural  and  lifelike, 
and  though  Arabella  —  she's  the  oldest  girl, 
and  meaner  'n  cats  !  —  wanted  the  old  man  to 
use  the  figgcr  for  a  sort  o'  tombstone  for  the 
rest  o*  the  fam'ly,  and  so  save  a  heap  o'  money, 
she  said,  he  was  so  took  up  with  that  petrified 
child  that  hejust  kept  it  round  the  house  for 
a  sort  o'  ornament." 

Lonely  came  to  a  finish,  and  leaned  back 
contentedly. 

"  Tbem  's  lies  !  "  said  the  ever-antagonistic 
Em'ly  Bird,  promptly,  and  with  conviction. 


aso 


LONELY  CMALLEY 


Lonely  reached  Itnguidly  for  hit  kite-ttring, 
and  began  slowly  to  haul  in,  squinting  absently 
up  at  the  dot  of  white  that  grew  bigger  and 
bigger  in  the  tremulous  blue  above.  Then,  in 

the  puzzled  silence  that  followed  on  the  end 
of  his  narrative,  the  quite  forgotten  old  town 
constable  was  heard  suddenly  to  slap  his  leg 
and  to  declare  with  much  /est  that  that  was 
the  beatenest  thing  he  had  ever  heard  on  ! 

In  fact,  while  Lonely  went  on  to  recount 
how  he  had  caught  a  certain  mad  dog  in  a  lap- 
robe,  and  thereby  saved  many  children  from 
impending  death,  the  rotund  and  credulous 
town  constable  sat  down  between  old  Cap'n 
Steiner  and  Cap'n  &inds,  and  gave  the  two 
s^ed  skippers  the  story  over  again,  as  best  he 
could,  and  again  slapped  his  leg  and  declared 
it  to  be  the  beatenest  thing  bt  had  ever  heard 
on ! 

But  why,  alas,  go  on  with  the  sad  fabrications 
of  this  conscienceless  Lonely  O'Malley?  They 
are  of  moment,  it  must  be  confessed,  only  as 
they  stand  an  evidence  of  that  youthful  and 
exuberant  activity  of  imagination  which  in 
maturer  years  was  to  exert  such  a  marked  in- 
fluence over  our  Lonely  and  his  career.  That 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  251 

these  imaginings  had  no  objective  counterpart 
in  life  took  away  nothing  from  their  intoxica- 
tion. Even  Lonely  himself  often  came  to 
believe  in  them.  And  if,  indeed,  all  these  airy 


THE  COlflTABLE  GAVt  THI  STORY  OVER  AGAIN 


escapes  from  the  cramping  and  monotonous 
obligations  of  an  over-stern  veracity  were  \if"^, 
pure  and  simple,  —  each  of  them  was  at  least 
the  lie  heroic,  a  shadow  of  those  diviner  lies 
of  art  and  poetry  from  which  spring  earth's 
oldest  and  highest  delights.  So  vivid  could 


2S2  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

these  fancies  of  Lonely 's  become  that  with  due 
repetitions  and  elaboration  they  became  almost 
visualization,  as,  for  instance,  his  stubborn 
and  unshaken  belief — quite  destitute  of  all 
historical  corroboration  —  that  when  not  yet 
six  years  of  age  he  had  been  taken  up  in  a 
balloon,  and  had  been  roundly  scolded  by 
a  certain  old  maid  of  Cowansburg  for  breaking 
her  rosebush  in  alighting. 

Yet  in  those  affairs  which  his  pagan  tradition 
designated  as  matters  of  honor,  Lonelv  could 
be  an  almost  morbid  literalist.  All  through 
his  career,  both  early  and  late,  it  is  true,  he 
found  it  woefully  hard  to  shun  extravagance. 
Yet  he  could  hold  aloof,  with  a  scrupulosity 
that  was  almost  overnice,  from  those  deeds 
and  ways  which  his  warped  young  conscience 
ordained  as  wrong.  To  raid  and  forage,  glibly 
to  identify  one's  self  with  any  religious  denom- 
ination that  contemplated  a  picnic-giving,  to 
steal  into  the  circus,  to  go  swimming  and  fish- 
ing on  the  sly,  to  put  tick-tacks  on  windows 
and  black  pepper  on  school  stoves,  to  trespass 
in  orchar  h  and  to  purloin  eatables  in  general, 
—  in  fact,  to  partake  at  all  times  of  the  bounty 
of  nature  without  too  cloje  inquiry  into  the 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  253 

virtual  rights  of  possession :  all  these  were 
sanctioned  by  the  timeless  though  unwritten 
Code,  and  seemed  fit  and  proper  for  the  boy 
to  do. 

But  to  interfere  with  another  boy's  bird-trap, 
to  have  any  doings  with  a  rival's  night-line,  to 
foregather  with  girls,  except  under  the  sternest 
compulsion,  to  "  fobble  "  '  marbles,  to  "  tittle- 
tattle,"  to  go  about  spick  and  span  like  a 
Miss  Nancy,  to  refuse  to  share  an  apple,  even 
in  the  face  of  impending  "  ho[j-bites "  and 
"  lady-bites,"  to  cheat  in  any  gane  of  chance 
or  test  of  skill  —  in  all  these  the  taboo  of  the 
Code  was  as  inexorable  as  the  law  of  the  Medcs 
and  Persians.  For,  as  the  kindly  old  Doctor 
Ridley  used  to  argue,  the  average  boy  is  little 

■  Fobbic,"  I  take  it,  found  its  njot  in  the  old  verb 
"  fob,"  to  iheat,  or  trick.  In  fact,  many  a  word  used  hy 
Lonely  and  his  ehums,  would  be  found  not  only  ama/inglv 
Shakopcwean,  but,  in  a  w«y,  also  startlingly  indicative  of 
the  pertinacity  of  all  boylu)<)d  traditimi.  '^hu^  youthful 
Chamboro,  with  Inmpcn,  dc.^if iiatcil  an  iil-tiivnrod  one  a>  a 
"jay,"  it  was  a  more  or  less  common  practice  to  "  mitch  " 
from  Khool,  and  when  a  boy  ••snitched"  he  was,  of 
course,  following  in  the  footsteps  of  the  old  EngUsh  snitcher 
or  informer,  —  while  the  ever-Ainilisr  "  cheese  it  "  came 
from  an  argot  quite  as  antique. 


254  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

more  than  a  Red  Indian.  «  When  he 's  a  good 
boy  he 's  a  dead  boy,  in  so  ^  as  his  youth  has 
been  eternally  lost  to  him— just  as  a  good 
Red  Indian 's  a  dead  Red  Indian.  As  for 
me,  I  want  'em  bad,  and  like  to  see  'em  bad ! " 

But,  ah,  Lonely,  Lonely,  no  matter  how  that 
kindly  old  man  of  medicine  and  timely  advice 
and  horehound  drops  may  try,  he  can  never 
hold  you  up  as  a  model  for  the  young !  And 
no  matter  how  I  attempt  it  myself,  Lonely 
O'Malley,  no  matter  how  I  extenuate,  and  re- 
press, and  extol  —  how,  indeed,  am  I  ever  to 
paint  you  as  a  hero  should  be  painted  ?  How 
shall  I  even  make  you  seem  half  sensible  and 
rational,  and  not  as  shatter-pated  and  mad  as 
a  March  hare  ? 

For  on  the  very  day  when  he  had  crawled 
in  under  the  Johnsons'  bam  to  rescue  a  home- 
less cur  with  a  broken  watering-can  tied  to  its 
frenzied  tail,  and  had  been  bitten  at  without 
resentment,  and  had  worked  patiently  and 
sturdily  over  the  knot,  and  had  fed  and  con- 
ciliated the  homeless  one,  —  on  that  verv 
same  day,  I  repeat,  he  had  not  only  wandered 
ecstatically  off,  while  consuming  green  snow- 
apples  in  the  Sampsons'  driving-shed,  into 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STORY  OR  TWO  255 

devious  gross  fictions  as  to  certain  wcirci  ad- 
ventures and  perils  which  had  once  beset  his 
father  in  the  Klondike,  but  later  in  the  day, 
while  basking  in  the  prince  of  a  jug  of 
lemonade  and  a  plate  of  Mrs.  Sampson's  tea- 
cakes,  he  had  lied,  deliberately  and  consciously 
—  lied  voluntarily,  opesly,  and  unnecessarily. 
The  gossipy  and  garrulous  and  yet  religion- 
loving  Widow  Tiffins,  the  secret  aversion  of 
the  long-suffering  Sampson  household,  was 
there;  and  had  not  only  driven  the  Preacher 
himself  into  the  upper  regions  of  the  house, 
but  had  prolonged  her  loquacious  visit  well 
on  into  the  afternoon,  until  Mrs.  Sampson,  in 
desperation,  had  called  in  Lonely  and  Lionel 
Clarence,  in  the  hope  that  an  audience  so 
diversified  might  cause  the  lean  and  terret- 
eyed  widow  to  turn  to  topics  less  maliciously 
personal.   But  still  she  had  tarried. 

A  moment's  silence  had  finally  fallen  on  the 
little  comjMuiy  as  a  door  blew  shut  in  the 
June  breeze,  and  Lonely  had  just  sunk  his 
teeth  into  a  fifth  tea-biscuit,  when  the  humanly 
peevish  voice  of  the  descending  and  sadly 
deluded  Prcaclw  sounded  from  the  front  stair- 
way. 


as^i  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

" Has  that  old  cat  gone  at  last,  my  dear? " 

A  second  and  a  more  awful  silence  followed 
tfcis  ill-timed  question.  But  Lonely  looked  up 
unperturbed. 

"  Ma  went  over  an  hour  ago  !  "  he  called 
placidly  up  to  the  approaching  minister,  now 
halfway  down  the  stairs. 

Then  the  boy  looked  blandly  and  soberly 
into  the  Widow  Tiffins's  ferret-like  eyes. 

"You  know  Mr.  Sampson  always  calls  ma 
the  old  cat — 'specially  after  she  threw  that 
hot  water  on  Lionel  Clarence!  "  he  explained, 
with  unruffled  composure. 

Lionel  Clarence  was  on  the  point  of  heatedly 
challenging  this  strange  statement,  when  his 
mother  pressed  another  tea-biscuit  on  him,  and 
bent  a  face  of  very  vivid  red  over  the  lemonade 
pitcher,  stirring  viciously  at  the  sugar  in  the 
bottom. 

But  the  yawning  chasm  had  been  bridged, 
the  unsuspecting  Widow  Tiffins  had  caught 
up  the  broken  threads  of  her  discourse,  and 
the  Preacher  himself  had  at  least  somewhat 
recovered  himself  before  he  reached  the  parlor 
door. 

From  that  time  forward  not  the  minutest 


LONELY  TELLS  A  STOHY  €«  TWO  257 

reference  was  ever  made  to  the  incident.  Some 
latent  strain  of  sympathy  in  Lonely  forever 
restrained  him  from  bringing  it  up.  Once, 
and  onct  only,  the  eyes  of  amn  and  the  hoj 
came  together.  In  that  glance  two  timelcM 
traditions,  two  ancient  ctmiizatiens,  focvmui 
and  met.  It  was  the  barbarian  Hdlenic  Code 
looking  into  tile  eyes  a£  tlK  Hebraic;  and 
relttmntly  h  must  be  cawfesacd  that  it  was 
the  gaze  of  rhe  mature  man  thacisll  before  the 
gaze  of  the  diminutive  ytKing  pagan. 

Kven  two  days  later,  when  the  Reverend 
K/.ra  Samps<'>n  caiw  face  to  face  with  Master 
Lonely  O'Malley,  as  the  ia'ter,  having  drawn 
in  a  pungent  mouthful  </f  mullein  leaf  smoke, 
sauntered  unexpectedly  around  the  corner, 
luxuriously  and  slowly  emitting  the  same,  the 
apostle  and  the  upholder  of  tlie  Hebr»Mic 
Code  turned  Ibf^Mi^gly  away,  and  busted 
himself  with  a  min^e  and  quite  in- 
spection «f  the  half-wilted  peach-tf<ee8  that 
kimg  over  Judge  Eby's  high  picket-^nce. 


Hire  out  on  life'  i  un.iluring  kills 
i'ou  gaze  with  hulf-rijr,-!f'ui  ,-xt-<, 

Wbtre  yuut/ys  dutumn,il  tu-ilight  Ji.'ls 
Their  depths  with  drifting  memories 

Of  when  you  walkeJ  an  J  knew  no  care 
And  ii!l\  stopped  to  disentzvine 

The  blossoms  woven  in  sour  hair 
To  lay  them  laughingly  on  mine. 

Or  to  some  winds  hill  would  firing 

Light  thistle-down,  and  !'j-t  in  th'juvj^t. 

Would  watch  it  Jioat,  half-wondertng 
What  old-time  home  or  star  it  sought. 


CHAPTER  IX 

In  which  the  Grtyhsund  steps  forth 

IT  was,  of  course,  Lonely  O*  Mai  ley  who 
first  carried  the  bacillus  of  piracy  into  the 
quiet  homes  of  Chamboro.  And  it  was  his 
potent  and  artful  planning  which  likewise  led 
to  the  outfitting  of  the  Greyhound. 

But  you  never  would  have  taken  the  Grey- 
hound for  a  pirate  ship.  That  is,  so  to  speak, 
at  first  sight.  She  was  so  ponderous  and  pa- 
tient-looking, so  massive  and  meek  of  appear- 
ance ! 

Nor  would  you  have  dreamed  that  eleven 
scowling  men  lay  aboard  her  betimes,  armed  to 
the  teeth  —  seven  scowling  men  who  spoke 
ever  and  anon  in  hoarse  whispers,  as  tradition 
demanded,  and  walked  with  a  rolling  gait,  as 
brigand  and  pirate  and  outlaw  have  done  since 
ship  was  first  scuttled  and  traitor  first  hanged 
to  a  yardarm ! 

If  some  one,  indeed,  had  even  whispered  to 
you  that  there  was  a  pirate  ship  coasting  up 
and  dowB  the  placid  waters  of  the  river  and 


*62  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

Wattcrson's  Creek,  fl>  ing  its  skull  and  cross- 
bones  in  the  very  face  of  the  solemn  old  town 
of  Chamboro,  you  would  have  pooh-poohed 
the  idea,  and  even  inwardly  chortled  a  bit,  for 
If  ever  there  was  a  sober  and  staid  and  sleepily 
respectable  old  town  it  was  Chamboro.  And 
It  ever  there  was  a  quiet  and  slumberous  and 
unromantic  stretch  of  water  it  was  this  same 
Watterson's  Creek. 

For  some  twenty  circuitous  miles  it  wound 
sleepily  down  through  gardens  and  orchards 
and  farm-lands,  to  join  the  even  sleepier  river 
on  which  rafts  of  logs  and  strings  of  honest 
and  hardworking  scows,  and  even  a  bustling 
steamer  or  two,  decorously  came  and  went  ~ 
"An'  not  one  o'  them  carryin'  so  much  as  a 
boardm'-net !  "  Piggie  Brennan  had  exultingly 
noted.  Dunng  midsummer  the  waters  of  the 
nver  were  the  alluring  yellow  of  sweet  stag- 
nation, except,  of  course,  at  the  bend  just 
below  the  slaughter-house,  where  the  upper 
town  swmiming-hole  was.  Here  they  were 
of  a  somewhat  darker  hue;  but  bless  you 
water  ,s  water  the  world  over !  And  at  one 
side  of  this  swimming-iiole  there  was  a  big  old 
wide-rooted  buttonwood,  which  was  just  the 


THE  GREYHOUND  STEPS  KOR  l'H  263 

thing  for  diving;  and  on  rhc  other  side  was 
a  priceless  mine  of  hhje  clay,  soft,  00/v,  irre- 
sistible. Yet  the  argosies  that  floateii  up  ami 
down  those  staid  and  unruffled  waters,  it  must 
be  confessed,  were  chiefly  cargoes  of  brick  and 
sand  and  limestone. 

Even  the  Greyhound  herself,  in  the  days 
when  she  was  still  respectably  known  as  the 
Ma^e  Watson  and  had  no  thought,  indeed, 
of  ever  flying  the  skull  and  cross-bones  at  her 
masthead,  had  journeyed  under  many  an  igno- 
minious burden  of  red  brick  and  plastering 
sand.  But  for  two  long  years,  before  drifting 
into  those  dark  and  evil  habits  which  were  to 
prove  such  an  unlooked-for  disgrace  to  her 
old  age,  the  Maggie  Watson  had  lain  aban- 
doned, just  under  the  railway  bridge,  with 
tadpoles  and  wrigglers  disporting  themselves 
between  her  battered  decks,  and  Chanjboro's 
one  cab-driver  calmly  and  impudently  using 
her  as  a  platform  whereon  to  wash  down,  of 
a  Sunday  morning,  his  imperishable  old  four- 
wheeler.  Here,  for  two  years,  she  had  been 
gazed  on  passively  yet  regretfully. 

It  was  with  the  advent  of  Lonely  that  the 
beginning  of  the  more  a^ressive  policy  coin- 


tMOOCOPr  RBOUmON  TBT  CHAtT 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  3) 


264  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

cided.  Then,  day  by  day,  numerous  horse- 
shoe nails  worked  at  the  heavy  iron  padlock 
that  kept  her  a  prisoner  beside  the  piles  of  the 
old  bridge.  Here  she  was  examined,  and 
talked  over,  and  even  belabored  as  to  her 
chain-bound  stern  and  pried  at  as  to  her  pon- 
derous bow.  But  still  she  clung  tenaciously  to 
her  old  mooring,  while  Chamboro's  newly 
awakened  dreams  of  piracy  went  unrealized. 

But  in  what  land,  since  boy  drew  breath,  can 
piracy  be  kept  down  !  It  comes  as  implacably 
and  mysteriously  as  the  mumps  or  the  measles. 
It 's  an  atavistic  taint  in  the  blood,  a  vagabondic 
diathesis  —  a  regurgitation  of  savagery,  inno- 
cently relieving  our  colic  of  civilization,  and 
the  sooner  it  breaks  out  and  is  over  and  done 
with  the  better ! 

And  all  of  this  brings  me  round  to  the  pi- 
rates themselves.  Yet  who,  indeed,  would  ever 
have  suspected  them  !  Who  could  ever  have 
foretold  that  weak  little  Willie  Steiner,  who 
daily  took  a  spoonful  of  emulsion  for  the  jam 
that  came  in  its  wake,  was  to  dig  three  good 
feet  of  the  pirate  cave  in  the  creek  bank,  hid- 
den away  in  the  scrub  willows,  just  above  the 
Cemetery !  And  who  would  ever  have  dreamed 


THE  GREYHOUND  STEPS  FORTH  265 

that  the  chubby-faced  little  Pinkie  Ball,  with 
a  burst  of  energy  that  brought  rivers  of  sweat 
out  of  his  fat  young  body,  had  carried  fence- 


LfTTLE  PINKIE  BALL  CARRIED  PENCE-BOARDS 


boards  all  the  way  from  the  Wilsons'  orchard 
for  li  '  boarding-in  and  shoring-up  of  this  same 
cave,  whose  roof  had  previously  shown  a  fre- 
quent tendency  to  collapse  on  the  heads  of  the 
startled  pirate  band,  whenever  in  solemn  con- 


266  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 


clave  assembled !  Who  would  have  imagined 
that  Piggie  Brennan,  the  hero  of  a  hundred 
fights,  now  that  he  was  daily  to  be  taking  his 
life  in  his  hands,  had  secretly  fallen  to  wearing 
sundry  small  gloves  and  bits  of  hair-ribbon 
under  his  copiously  patched  merino  blouse ! 
And  how  was  the  Rector  of  All  Saints  to 
understand  the  trepidation  of  his  son  Lionel 
Clarence,  already  destined  for  the  ministry 
(in  his  mother's  eyes)  when  three  prolonged 
owl-hoots  followed  by  two  low  whistles  came 
mysteriously  from  without  the  Rectory  window 
of  an  evening,  and  turned  the  pink-tinted  qui- 
et ess  of  the  library  into  the  gloom  of  a  prison 
for  one  stifling  and  rebellious  young  heart ! 
Or  who  was  to  explain  to  the  rotund  old  With- 
erspoon,  the  town  constable,  just  why  he  was 
no  longer  kept  busy  putting  out  smu('nres  in 
vacant  lots  and  bonfires  under  wharves,  and 
why  there  were  no  more  Indian  massacres  on 
the  Common,  and  no  more  of  those  strange 
circus  exhibitions,  which  had  threatened  the 
destruction  by  fire  of  not  a  few  of  the  more 
commodious  barns  and  stables  of  Chamboro  ! 

From  the  day,  however,  that  Capt^n  Lonely 
O'Malley  and  Pud  Jones  first  discovered  that 


THE  GREYHOUND  STEPS  FORTH  267 

the  Ma^e  Watson  might  be  purchased  for 
the  sum  of  three  dollars,  cash  down,  a  subtle 
change  came  over  the  youthful  hearts  of  Cham- 
boro.  The  immensity  of  that  sum,  it  is  true, 
staggered  the  boys  not  a  little.  The  following 
afternoon  it  was  talked  over  in  the  cave.  The 
boy  who  was  already  destined  for  the  ministry, 
but  was  known  of  late  beyond  the  precincts 
of  the  Rectory  as  "  Slugger,"  had  thoughtfully 
brought  with  him  an  ample  jar  of  his  mother's 
last  year's  pickled  peaches,  and  while  regaling 
themselves  on  this  delicacy  the  entire  party 
thrashed  the  matter  of  the  Ma^ie  Watson  out 
to  the  bitter  end. 

Pinkie  Ball  —  most  of  whose  pennies  found 
their  prompt  way  into  Pratt's  confectionery 
—  saw  no  fun  in  wasting  money  on  a  pirate 
ship,  when  it  ought  to  be  taken  by  force  of 
arms. 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  pirates  huyin'  a  boat, 
anyway  ?  "  he  demanded,  contemptuously. 
"  If  we  're  real  pirates,  why  don't  we  go  an' 
capture  her  ?  " 

"  Then  s'posin'  you  go  out  and  find  some- 
thing for  us  to  capture ! "  answered  the  Captain, 
with  the  honor  of  his  band  to  uphold. 


268  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


"  What 's  the  mattei  with  buyin'  her  first," 
said  Redney  McWilliams,  already  elected  First 
Mate,  his  utterance  somewhat  choked  by  an 
especially  large  and  succulent  peach,  "and 
then  givin'  her  away  to  old  Sanderson,  or 
somebody,  and  capturin'  her  back  ?  " 

The  extremely  aged  gentleman  to  be  thus 
honored,  however,  was  so  sickly  and  decrepit 
that  it  was  a  matter  of  history  that  his  daughter 
cut  up  his  meat  for  him ;  and  the  suggestion 
was  discarded  as  unworthy  able-bodied  pirates. 

"  Well,  there 's  one  thing,"  said  Willie 
Steiner,  through  his  pocket  handkerchief ; 
*•  I 'm  sick  o'  this  here  cave.  There 's  nothin* 
funny  about  havin'  a  cold  in  the  head  all  the 
time!" 

"  You  were  crazy  enough  to  git  her  built  I " 
scoffed  the  Captain. 

"  Well,  but  I 'd  like  to  know  where  the  fun 
is  sleepin*  in  a  cave  when  you 've  got  to  have 
pains  in  your  joints  all  the  time  !" 

"  And  I  don't  see  much  use  in  a  place  that 
chokes  you  up  with  jmoke  every  time  you 
make  a  fire  !  "  objected  Piggie  Brennan. 

"  And  you  're  not  feelin'  scart  about  bein* 
raided  all  the  time,  at  sea  —  I  mean  out  on 


rHE  GREYHOUND  STEPS  FORTH  269 

the  Crick ! "  said  timorous  Freddie  Stevens. 
"  Besides,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "  it  does  n't 
seem  so  much  like  stealin',  when  you  come 
and  take  things  with  a  ship  !  " 

Freddie's  conscience  was  troubling  him  be- 
cause of  a  pound-cake  which  certain  rats  had 
made  away  with,  from  the  second  shelf  in 
Mrs.  Stevens's  pantry. 

"  I  think  you  're  making  an  uncommon 
pig  of  yourself  over  those  peaches,  Redney  !  " 
interposed  the  Preacher's  son. 

"  You  don't  have  to  pay  out  good  money 
for  caves ! "  said  Pinkie,  sadly. 

"  It's  too  muddy  and  dark  in  here  all  the 
time,  anyway  !  "  added  Biff  Perkins. 

"You  weren't  all  talkin'  that  way  about 
three  weeks  ago ! "  said  the  Captain,  as  he 
strode  back  and  forth,  with  one  shoulder 
hunched  up,  and  his  arm  over  his  chest. 

And  so  they  squabbled  on  until  a  vote  was 
taken  on  the  question,  and  even  Pinkie  swung 
round  with  the  majority,  and  it  was  unani- 
mously decided  that  the  Maggie  Watson 
should  become  the  property  of  the  gang.  But 
from  that  day  on,  mind  you,  she  was  to  be 
spoken  of  and  known  as  the  Greyhound, 


270  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

a  compact  which  wp.s  duly  sworn  to  and  elabor- 
ately signed  for,  in  blood,  along  with  sundry 
other  items  also  duly  laid  down  with  equally 
impressive  ceremonies. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  they  felt,  for 
those  halcyon  days,  the  summer  holidays,  were 
already  at  hand.  It  was  the  season  of  blue 
skies  and  warm  evenings  and  strange  unrests, 
the  season  of  lazy  afternoons  and  disturbing 
dreams  of  (u-off  things,  th^  season  when  a 
passion  for  water  and  roving  is  born,  when 
the  world  is  big  and  wonderful  and  echoing 
with  alluring  voices,  when  the  touch  of  shoe- 
leather  is  an  abomination  to  the  foot,  and  a 
garden-hoe  is  a  sordid  emblem  of  slavery.  It 
was  the  time  when  the  fat  old  constable  grew 
more  watchful  and  wary,  when  river-booms 
were  unchained,  and  orchards  were  ravaged, 
and  when  young  vagabonds,  not  two  years  out 
of  skirts,  rebelled  against  the  cruel  bondage  of 
home  life,  and  were  apt  to  make  for  the  woods 
to  be  Indians. 

But  with  the  purchase  of  the  Maggie  Watson 
—  there,  it  slipped  out  before  I  could  stop 
it!  —  with  the  purchase  of  the  Greyhound, 
all  of  these  trivial  things  were  forgotten,  and 


THE  GREYHOUND  STEPS  FORTH  271 


a  new  and  richer  coloring  tinted  existence. 
For  purchased  she  was,  though  just  how,  it 
would  not  do  to  question  too  closely.'  It  is 
only  known  that  back  yards  and  garrets  and 
cellars  were  ransacked  for  bottles  and  rags  and 
metals  and  bones,  scoured  and  ransacked  as 
they  had  never  been  scoured  and  ransacked 
before,  that  early  vegetables  were  mysteriously 
peddled  about  the  foreign  parts  of  the  town, 
that  copper  bottoms  were  deftly  taken  from 
boilers  which  had,  indeed,  merely  been  laid 
aside  for  repairs,  and  that  even  flatirons  had 
been  known  to  disappear  as  though  by  magic. 
Sunday  pennies  that  should  have  gone  to  the 
clothing  of  the  heathen  were  grimly  held  back. 
Bills  were  peddled,  and  errands  were  run  with 
an  alacrity  never  before  discovered  in  the  small 

«  How  Lonely  rsdsed  a  goodly  portion  of  this  purchase 
money  is,  perhaps,  worthy  of  passing  note.  He  tooii  a 
contract  from  Judge  Eby  to  remove  from  a  driveway  several 
cwdsof  field-stone  —  a  task  of  many  days  for  one  boy 
alone.  Lonely,  however,  having  organized  a  fire  brigade 
among  the  gang,  built  a  good-sized  bonfire  in  the  nearby 
ditch,  —  and  the  zealous  brigade,  in  feverish  and  deter- 
mined attempts  to  smother  this  conflagratiiHi,  seized  on  the 
nearest  stones,  and  pcrfaroed  a  week's  work  with'  ut  even 
knowing  it ! 


27a  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

boy  of  Chamboro.  Pet  rabbits  and  pigeons 
were  sorrowfully  barter  d  away, —  three  differ- 
ent times  was  the  faithful  Gilead  sold  and 
resold,  —  and  at  last  it  all  ended  in  the  transfer 
—  under  the  greatest  secrecy  —  of  the  Grey- 
hound to  her  new  owners.   She  was  takci; 


OLEMTtY  POLED  UP  WATTERSOn's  CREEK 


one  quiet  moonlight  night  from  the  shadows 
of  the  old  railway  bridge,  and  as  silently  poled 
up  Watterson's  Creek  to  a  screening  clump  of 
willows,  not  more  than  an  owl's  hoot  from  the 
cave  itself. 

That  moonlight  migration  marked  the  Great 
Divide  in  the  life  of  the  Maggie  Watson. 
Yet  before  she  could  become  the  Greyhound, 


THE  GREYHOUND  STEPS  FORTH  273 

great  changes  had  to  take  place.  Bulwarks  had 
to  be  built  up  around  her,  as  befitted  a  fight- 
ing craft.  In  her  stern  a  cabin  had  to  be  con- 
structed, and  in  doing  this  the  Captain  in- 
sisted that  the  rudder-stock  be  lengthened,  so 
that  while  handling  the  tiller  he  should  be 
able  to  stand  grandiosely  exalted  on  that  little 
upper  deck  of  the  cabin  roof. 

These  additions,  it  must  be  explained,  gave 
to  the  Greyhound  the  ponderous  statelincss 
of  a  Spanish  galleon.  The  pirates  later  tried 
to  do  away  with  this  impression  of  heaviness 
by  the  angle  at  which  they  set  up  the  Grey- 
hound's masts.  But  rake  these  two  masts  as 
devilishly  and  debonairly  as  they  could,  the 
old-time  purveyor  of  brick  and  sand,  natur- 
ally enough,  refused  to  shake  off  her  look  of 
phlegmatic  and  even  sullen  ponderosity. 

And  when  her  first  sailing  test  came  about, 
she  not  only  refused  most  stubbornly  to 
respond  to  the  tiller,  but  even  in  the  fiercest 
gale  of  wind  loomed  slowly  and  solemnly 
onward,  with  the  funereal  stateliness  of  a  coal 
barge.  Still  not  despairing,  her  crew  went 
lustily  to  work  and  rigged  her  up  with  oars, 
four  on  a  side,  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of 


274  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

a  Venetian  galleass.  Once  under  way,  and  es- 
pecially when  the  Captain  and  the  First  Mate 
assisted  with  poles  from  the  stern,  she  moved 
at  a  surprisingly  brisk  rate  of  speed,  although 
it  did  rake  a  power  of  churning  and  straining 
to  get  her  started. 

"  But  won't  she  be  a  peach  for  rammin' !  *' 
cried  her  Captain,  joyously,  as  he  watched  her 
loggy  side  crush  an  orange-crate  i^nst  a 
boom-end. 

It  was  only  the  pirates  themselves  who  ever 
knew  just  what  this  transformation  entailed. 
What  sly  dismantling  of  fences  and  chicken- 
coops  !  What  purloining  of  screws  and  nails 
and  sca.itlings  and  odds  and  ends  of  boards. 
What  nail-bereft  woodsheds  that  leaned  awry  ; 
what  fences  that  stood  suddenly  bare  and 
skeleton-like ;  what  sidewalks  that  tripped  you 
up  quite  unexpectedly,  because  of  an  unwhole- 
some absence  of  spikes ;  what  soulless  rend- 
ing of  good  linen  sheets  for  the  making  of 
sails,  what  strange  disappearings  of  clothes- 
lines for  the  manufacture  of  rigging!  And 
what  sawing  and  hammering  and  pounding 
and  blistering  of  hands  and  bruising  of  thumbs, 
before  it  was  all  brought  about ! 


THE  GREYHOl  Nl)  STEPS  FORTH  17s 
But  even  mo«-  momentous  than  all  this  was 
the  arming  and  provisioning;  of  th.-  Circy- 
hound.  It  was  the  latter  undertaking  that 


n-AMDWC  OIIANDI08ELY  EXAtTED  OM  THAT  LITTLE  UPPER 


276  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

pro?;ressed  so  spasmodically,  for  the  more 
appetizing  the  acquired  delicacy,  it  seemed,  the 
more  mysteriously  rapid  its  disappearance. 
The  things  that  came  to  hand  most  readily  were 
the  very  things  least  wanted.  Freddie  Stevens, 
for  instance,  found  no  apparent  difficulty  in 
supplying  an  unlimited  amount  of  chow-chow 
and  sweet  pickle,  but  where  were  they  to 
look  for  more  substantial  dishes  with  which 
to  enjoy  such  delicious  condiment  ?  —  though 
it  must  be  admitted  that  three  live  chickens  had 
squawked  their  last  within  the  Greyhound's 
darkened  cabin  !  An  untried  cook,  however, 
had  neglected  to  remove  more  than  the  feath- 
ers from  the  prize,  with  a  result  that  they 
were  nibbled  at  somewhat  disdainfully,  Piggie 
Brennan  being  the  only  member  of  the 
crew  who  could  go  in  for  them  with  any 
gusto. 

A  sort  of  Nemesis,  indeed,  seemed  forever 
on  the  heels  of  those  brave  young  pirates.  If 
four  custard  pies  mysteriously  disappeared 
fi'om  a  pantry  window,  they  vanished  with 
even  greater  mystery  when  once  brought 
aboard  the  Greyhound.  If  there  was  a  pound 
of  gingerbread  to  be  eaten,  the  Captain  called 


THE  GREYHOUND  STEPS  FORTH    ?;  ; 

in  vain  for  men  to  man  his  ship.  If  there  was 
so  much  as  a  jelly-roll  in  the  provision  chest, 
you  were  sure  to  find  the  voracious  First 
Mate  absent  from  his  post.  The  final  result 
was  that  l>oth  Captsun  and  crew  had  to  fall 
back  on  early  harvest  apples  and  an  occasional 
mess  of  boiled  potatoes,  garnered  from  water- 
side gardens  when  the  owners  thereof  were 
wrapt  in  sweetly  unconscious  sluaiber.  When 
the  apples  were  over-green,  they  were  baked, 
or  rather  half-baked,  in  the  old  cook-stove 
whose  three  rusty  joints  of  purloined  stove- 
pipe protruded  uncommonly  like  the  muzzle 
of  a  six-inch  gun  from  the  port  side  of  the 
Greyhound's  cabin. 

Not  that  this  gallant  ship  did  not  carry 
arms  more  deadly !  Every  man  who  walked 
her  decks  was  armed,  if  not  with  sling-shot 
and  bow  and  arrow,  at  least  with  a  key  gun. 
If  you  have  never  used  or  known  a  key  gun, 
of  course  you  cannot  understand  just  how 
deadly  it  is.  'T  is  made  from  an  old  key,  hol- 
low of  shank,  and  the  bigger  the  key  the 
better.  A  touch-hole  is  supplied  by  filing 
through  to  the  inner  end  of  the  hollow,  a  few 
grains  of  priming  powder  are  sprinkled  on  this 


278  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

touch-hole,  and  when  well  filled  and  aimed,  it 
has  been  known  to  hit  a  target  six  good  paces 
off!  Its  one  disadvantage,  however,  was  the 
frequency,  I  might  say  the  inevitability,  with 
which  it  burned  your  fingers.  Yet  this  did  not 
shatter  in  the  pirates  that  mystic  love  of  fire- 
arms and  powder  which  burns  in  the  pagan 
breast  of  every  young  boy.  To  describe  it, 
or  to  account  for  it,  is  impossible.  Love  of 
woman  may  come  later;  love  of  gold  may 
eventually  supplant  it.  But  never  can  the 
most  golden  hair  or  the  most  golden  hoard 
re-awaken  that  first,  fierce,  primal  thrill  which 
comes  of  beholding  the  smoke-stained  grim- 
ness  of  a  secretly  acquired  old  rabbit-gun  ! 

Besides  his  key  gun,  which  swung  from 
almost  every  pirate's  belt,  their  arsenal  could 
boast  of  two  bullet-moulds,  several  feet  of  lead 
piping,  a  Flaubert  rifle,  out  of  order,  an  air- 
gun,  six  sling-shots,  two  hatchets,  and  three 
broken  garden-rakes,  which  were  to  serve  as 
boarding-irons,  to  say  nothing  of  several  bot- 
tles filled  with  gunpowder  and  rigged  with 
dangerously  swift-burning  fuses  of  home  manu- 
facture. Most  of  this  gunpowder,  I  may  add, 
had  been  illicitly  secured  by  Binney  Penny- 


THE  GREYHOUND  STEPS  FORTH  279 


father,  whose  ^ther  was  a  veteran  duck- 
shooter  ;  and  had  involved  the  disgorging  of 
several  hundred  loaded  cartridges,  —  a  deed 


BACKED  BY  A  MASKED  AND  SCOWLING  MAN 


for  which  Binney  was  doled  out  fit  and  proper 
punishment  many  months  later.  Nor  must 
we  overlook  the  brass  cannon  —  gun  and  car- 
riage weighing  fully  three  pounds  —  even 
though  sagely  and  securely  spiked  by  a  wise 


ago  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


parent  before  it  ever  came  into  the  possession 
of  the  pirates.  It  frowned  down  from  the  bow 
of  the  Greyhound  in  a  manner  most  menac- 
ing, however,  and  more  than  one  little  girl 
had  been  known  to  turn  pale  when  it  was  held 
threateningly  against  her  palpitating  bodice, 
backed  by  a  masked  and  scowling  man  de- 
manding if  she  had  no  more  than  those  three 
apples  in  her  pocket ! 

And,  on  the  whole,  the  cup  of  happiness  of 
our  pirates  would  have  been  full  to  overflow- 
ing, but  for  one  thing.  And  that  was  the  sad 
fact  that  the  Greyhound  was  given  to  leak- 
ing so  ungallantly.  They  had  nailed  up  her 
rents,  they  had  plugged  and  caulked  her 
cracks  with  oakun^,  and  had  ruined  a  dozen 
suits  of  clothes  in  painting  her  with  pitch  and 
t^r  and  red  lead.  But  still  she  leaked.  All 
through  her  meteoric  career  in  fact,  she  never 
knew  what  it  meant  to  possess  a  tight  bottom. 
Day  and  night,  when  afloat,  a  man  had  to  be 
stationed  at  her  pumps  (secretly  appropriated 
from  the  McWilliams's  cistern) ;  and  many 
were  the  miseries  and  heartburnings  this 
perpetual  and  irremediable  failing  gave  rise  to 
among  her  saddened  crew. 


THE  GREYHOUND  STEPS  FORTH  281 

Captain  Lonely  O'Malley  stoutly  main- 
tained, however,  that  all  pirate  ships  had  to 
leak,  especially  after  they 'd  been  scuttled  three 
or  four  times ! 


To  Annie  Eliza 


{Groiuittg  Someivhat  OUish) 

Ah,  Mistress  Annie,  though  you  throw 

Each  girlhood  game  away, 
I  see,  aUt:,  '/  will  come  to  pass 

That  othtr  games  you  'II play  ! 

Novo  you  *ve  outgrown  yiur  skipping-rope. 

And  your  last  lisp  or  two. 
By  sterner  name  will  go  this  game 

Tour  teats  have  given  you  ! 

('  Tteill  not  be  dolls  and  dishes.  Dear, 

For  you,  alack-aday. 
So  wise  must  grow  that  you  'II  soon  throw 

Mere  toys  —  and  me  —  am  ay  ! ) 

Tou  'II  break  each  cup  and  tea- thing  up,  — 
Tou  'II  lose  your  taste  for  tarts. 

And  as  you  've  played  with  dishes.  Dear, 
Too  soon  you  'II  play  with  hearts  ! 


CHAPTER  X 


In  which  certain  Pirates  are  unexpectedly  pursued 

IT  was  a  sultry,  close  day  in  July,  and  even 
old  Cap'n  Sands,  who  had  seen  the  sun 
beat  down  on  Chamboro,  on  and  oft',  for  some 
seventy  long  years,  could  recollect  no  hotter 
weather.  "  Leastaways,  Henery,"  he  qualified, 
"  fer  this  time  o'  the  year  !  " 

In  this  old  Cap'n  Steiner,  mopping  his  brow 
with  slightly  palsied  hand,  was  not  inclined  to 
agree.  There  was  a  day  in  Seventy-Nine,  he 
held,  that  had  seemed  a  sight  hotter  to  him 
—  the  Sunday  week  after  the  sawmill  was 
burned  and  Bill  Rankin's  wife  was  taken  with 
a  stroke  on  the  Market  Square,  and  the  whole 
town  said  it  was  a  touch  o'  sun. 

"Well,  right  here  suits  me  well  'nough ! " 
said  old  Cap'n  Sands,  placidly.  He  was  the 
more  corpulent  of  the  two,  and  he  fanned 
himself  languidly  with  his  well-worn  panama 
hat. 

They  were  seated  in  the  shade  of  the 
maples  on  the  Common,  that  stretch  of  open 


a86  LONELY  O'MALLEY 


green  between  Watterson's  Creek  and  the 
river,  gazing  ruminatively  down  the  sweep 
of  shimmering  yellow  water  toward  the  far-off 
freedom  of  the  Great  Lakes — the  wider  seas 
they  had  braved  and  known  for  so  many  years. 
Indeed,  forty  summers  before,  they  had  both 
had  a  hand  in  the  planting  of  the  very  trees 
under  which  they  sat  dreaming  autumnly  of 
old  times  and  old  friends. 

This  had  long  been  their  fevorite  seat,  under 
the  useless  old  cannon,  just  at  the  point  of  the 
Common,  from  which  no  craft  creeping  up 
or  down  the  river  could  escape  their  sharp 
old  eyes.  And  they  knew  every  craft  that 
sailed  those  waters,  from  dug-out  to  excursion 
steamer,  and  had  known  some  of  them  for 
half  a  century. 

When,  therefore,  Cap'n  Steiner's  eye  wan- 
dered up  the  glazed  and  mercury-like  surface 
of  Watterson's  Creek  that  hot  morning,  and 
beheld  an  utterly  unknown  craft  creeping 
down  towards  the  river,  he  drew  Cap'n 
Sands's  startled  attention  to  that  fact,  and  to- 
gether the  two  old  cronies  hobbled  down  to 
the  dilapidated  Common  Whurf,  and  leaning 
on  their  sticks,  looked  anxiously  out  at  this 


PIRATES  ARE  PURSUED  287 

strange  vessel,  each  with  his  keen  eyes  shaded 
by  a  sHghtly  unsteady  hand. 

"  Kin  you  recollect  that  craft,  Silas  ?  **  asked 
Cap'n  Sands. 


UN  YOU  KECOLLECT  THAT  CRAFT,  SltAS 


288  I.ONELY  O'MALLEY 


Cap'n  Steiner  looked  again,  and  waited  for 
some  time  before  he  answered.  While  he  waited 
the  strange,  dark  craft  crept  down  closer  and 
closer  to  the  Common  Dock.  Cap'n  Sands  was 
studying  her  ensign  through  his  highly  polished 
old  marine  glass. 

**  Seems  to  lie  uncommon  low  in  the  water ! " 
commented  Cap'n  Steiner.  **No,  Henery,  1 
can't  say  as  I 've  seen  her  a-fore ! " 

She  swept  still  closer.  Then,  i^inst  the 
glare  of  the  sun,  they  made  out  high  on  the 
roof  of  her  cabin  the  armed  and  befeathered 
form  of  the  Captain,  with  his  tiller  firmly  in 
his  hand,  his  feet  planted  well  apart. 

A  minute  later  they  caught  the  glitter  of 
the  brass  cannon  in  her  bow.  Near  by  paced 
the  First  Mate,  every  now  and  then  sweep- 
ing the  horizon  with  his  glass,  surreptitiously 
munching  at  a  ginger-snap. 

Then  the  two  startled  old  captains  made  out 
eig;ht  small  boys — eight  small  boys  tugging 
and  pulling  at  eight  unwieldly  and  strangely 
shaped  sweep-oars.  Their  faces  were  red  and 
wet,  and  their  mouths  were  oddly  puckered  up. 
Beside  them,  as  though  prepared  for  instant  use, 
unmistakably  lay  firearms  and  boarding-irons. 


PIRATES  ARE  PURSUED  289 

As  the  strange  ship  drew  still  closer  the  two 
silent  watchers  made  out  a  dashing  turkey- 
feather  in  the  hat  of  each  member  of  the  crew. 
They  also  discerned  that  the  Captain's  face 
wore  a  dark  and  unchanging  scowl,  and  that 
his  voice  was  unnecessarily  hoarse  as  he  called 
out  his  word  of  command. 

The  two  old  captains  exchanged  glances. 
««  Hail  'em,  Henery  !  "  said  Cap'n  Stciner, 
shaking  a  bit. 

Cap'n  Sands  raised  his  hand  to  his  mouth, 
and  let  forth  an  old-time  bellow. 
"  Ship  a-hoy  !  W  at  ship  is  that  ?  " 
Eight  startled  oars  hung  poised  in  the  air. 
There  was  a  hurried  consultation  on  board. 
Two  heads  in  particular  tried  to  hide  them- 
selves behind  the  bulwarks.   Was  it  right 
for  pirates  to  say  just  "ho  and  what  they 
were  ? 

"Why,  bless  my  soul!  If  that  ain't  my 
Sarah's  boy!  My  young  grandson,  sir,  and 
look  at  him !  And  his  mother  't  nally  sayin' 
he's  too  delicate  in  the  chest  to  pick  the 
potato-bugs  ofF'n  the  vines ! " 

It  was  Cap'n  Steiner  who  spoke,  blinking 
down  at  his  weakling  offspring  with  startled 


290  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

eyes.  Cap'n  Sands  himself  suddenly  grew 
serious  of  face,  and  with  his  stick  pointed  out 
a  certain  small  boy  with  a  very  red  face,  who 
dropped  his  oar  for  a  moment  to  wipe  a  very 
moist  forehead  with  a  partly  roUed-up  gingham 
shirt-sleeve. 

"  Why,  I 'm  an  old  sinner  if  there  ain't 
Charlie  Ball's  boy !  And  Charlie  jus*  sayin' 
over  to  Rankin's  how  that  boy  o'  his  was  born 
tired  ! " 

"  An'  on  seek  a  day  !  "  exploded  the  other 

old  seaman,  overcome. 

Before  they  had  recovered  from  their  shock 
the  Greyhound  slipped  silently  and  mysteri- 
ously away,  as  all  pirate  ships  should,  no  matter 
how  flattering  such  salutations  may  seem, 
coming  as  they  did  from  the  oldest  sea-dog  in 
all  Chamboro. 

Cap'n  Steiner  stood  leaning  on  his  cane, 
gazing  after  them  pensively.  Cap'n  Sands  at 
first  showed  signs  of  becoming  suddenly  apo- 
plectic, growing  purplish  about  the  gills  and 
shaking  with  some  silent  and  concealed  emo- 
tion as  he  pounded  his  stick  on  the  planks  of 
the  old  dock.  Then  he  swore  softly,  many 
times,  and  looked  in  the  wake  of  the  disappear- 


PIRATES  ARE  PURSUED  29 » 
ing  vessel.  A  pensive  shadow  flitted  across 
his  leonine  old  eyes. 

«  Henery,  as  I 'm  an  old  sinner,  them  be 
pirates  —  out  an'  out  pirates ! " 

And  again  mirth  overcame  him,  and  he 
struggled  with  a   tendency  to  choke,  and 
wagged  his  head  helplessly  from  side  to  side. 
Then  he  stopped  and  mopped  his  brow. 
«  And  sech  a  day,  Henery,  sech  a  day  !  " 
And  still  again  the  old  stick  smote  the 
planks  as  his  eye  followed  the  gyrations  of 
eight  unwieldy  sweep-oars,  silhouetted  against 
the  glaring  shimmer  of  the  water. 

The  two  old  men  slowly  climbed  the  bank 
once  more,  puffing  back  to  their  seats  under 
the  shade  of  the  maples. 

"  Pirates  they  be,  Silas  ! "  assented  the  other, 
almost  sorrowfully.  "  Armed  to  th*  teeth,  an* 
a-lookin'  for  something  to  capture  !  " 

He  gazed  regretfully  after  the  odd  little 
black  craft.  A  leaf  or  two,  untimely  withered, 
drifted  lazily  down  from  the  green  boughs 
above  their  heads. 

"  Mind  them  days,  Silas?  Mind  them  days, 
when  ive  was  up  to  such  jinks  ? "  he  asked, 
musingly. 


292  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"  He-he-he !  Do  I  mind  em,  Henery ; 
do  I  mind  'em?  Well,  now,  I  guess  I  ainU 
forgittin'  them  doin's  !  An' d*  you  mind  the 
time  we  captured  little  Katie  Wilson,  and  were 
a-goin'  to  hold  her  for  ransom  ?  He-he-he  !  " 

"  That  was  a  powerful  energetic  wallopin' 
old  man  Wilson  was  a-givin'  us  for  it,  too  !  " 

There  was  a  silence,  and  a  song-sparrow 
sang  thinly  from  one  of  the  far-off  maples. 

"  D'  you  mind,  Silas,  what  a  purty  girl  Katie 
was,  them  days  ?  " 

Cap'n  Sands's  hands  were  under  the  tail 
of  his  alpaca  coat^  and  he  sneezed  boisterously. 

"  Yes,  an  uncommon  purty  girl,  Katie  !  An* 
dead  this  twenty  years,  Henery,  dead  this 
twenty  years ! " 

"  You  come  and  cut  me  out  there,  you  old 
dog!  Mind  how  she  got  mifty,  'bout  my 
sayin*  she  was  a  purty  poor-lookin'  captive 
and  ought  to  spruce  up  and  wash  some  o' 
that  taffy  off  *n  her  face  ! 

"  Mind,  too,  how  she  got  just  a  leetle  scart, 
first,  when  we  captured  her  and  were  a-tellin* 
her  she  was  goin*  to  be  held  for  ransom  ?  And 
what  a  power  o'  bawlin'  she  did  a-fore  we 
started  feedin'  her  on  horehound  taffy?" 


PIRATES  ARE  PURSUED  293 

"Dead  this  twenty  odd  years,  Silas!" 
repeated  the  other,  reminiscently. 

"That's  so  — that's  so!"  said  Cap'n 
Steiner,  softly,  listening  to  the  distant  song- 
sparrow.  "  A  purty  girl,  Katie  !  " 

The  two  old  heads  wagged  together,  silently. 

"  Them  were  great  days,  Silas  !  " 

Silas  was  thinking  of  certain  things  lost  in 
the  maze  of  old  memories,  and  did  not 
answer. 

Then  he  looked  down  at  the  river  once 
more,  — the  river  that  ran  with  so  many 
memories  for  him,  and  the  expression  ot  his 
wrinkled  old  face  changed  again. 

He  leaned  closer  to  his  companion,  and 
whispered  something  in  his  ear,  — something 
at  which  Cap'n  Sands  chuckled  and  shook, 
even  while  wagging  his  head  disapprovingly. 

"  Ain't  we  just  a  leetle  on  in  years  for  them 
sort  o' jinks,  "'silas?"  he  asked,  in  mild  dis- 
sent. 

For  answer  he  was  given  a  playful  dig  m 
the  ribs, 

"Tut!  tut!  What's  an  odd  year  or  two? 
It  *d  limber  us  up  a  bit,  Henery  !  " 
«  Mebbe  !  "  said  the  other,  weakly. 


294  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"Think  wc  ain't  spry  enough  ? " 

"I  ain't  known  a  bed  of  sickness  this 
twentjr-eight  years  past,  Silas  Steiner ! "  re- 
torted the  other.  Cap'n  Steiner,  what  with  his 
rheumatism  and  his  mid-winter  bronchitis, 
could  make  no  such  boast  But  his  spirit  was 
indomitable. 

Then  let  's  git  after  them  young  rapscal- 
lions ! " 

"  A  purt-e-e-ee  hot  day,  ain't  it,  Silas  ? "  was 
the  other's  last  feeble  objection,  as  Cap'n 
Steiner  linked  an  arm  through  his  own  and 
the  two  hobbled  hastily  and  yet  secretively 
across  the  Common,  and  with  numerous  sly 
(diggings  of  ribs  and  holding  of  sides  crept 
down  Thames  Street. 

Once  inside  Cap'n  Steiner's  front  gate,  they 
circled  cautiously  through  the  shadowy  orchard, 
like  two  guilty  children,  dodging  from  tree  to 
tree  and  finding  it  no  easy  matter  to  sneak  past 
the  coldly  inquisitive  eye  of  Miss  Arabella, 
busy  gathering  a  mess  of  butter-beans  for  the 
Widow  Starbottle,  from  the  Captain's  trim 
little  garden. 

Just  at  the  foot  of  this  garden,  which  sloped 
gently  down  to  the  river's  edge,  the  old 


PIRATES  ARE  PURSUED  295 


Captain  kept  that  one  stanch  and  trusty 
friend,  his  rowboat.  Year  after  year  it  re- 
mained a  vivid  and  spotless  green,  painted 
twice  a  season  by  his  own  scrupulous  hand. 
Just  why  it  was  called  the  Katie  Wilson, 
however,  none  of  the  younger  generation  of 
Chamboro  ever  knew.  That  was  a  thing  of 
many  years  ago,  an  echo  of  old  and  far-off 
affairs,  unknown  to  the  busy  adventurers  of  a 
ruthless  present. 

They  only  knew  that  it  was  in  this  rowboat 
that  the  cheery  old  Captain,  every  Sunday 
afternoon  when  the  weather  was  fine,  made 
his  way  for  a  laborious  mile  and  a  half  up  the 
river,  to  Colonel  Taylor's  place,  where  the 
two  old-timers  sat  in  the  summer-house  and 
partook  smackingly  of  a  bottle  of  the  Colonel's 
well-aged  port  wine,  reputed  to  have  mellowed 
\n  a  carefully  guarded  cellar  since  the  time  the 
Taylor  femily  first  tame  out  to  the  New 
World. 

On  his  little  landing-wharf,  of  two  spotlessly 
painted  planks,  Cap'n  Steiner  took  off  and 
folded  up  very  neatly  his  white  alpaca  coat. 
This  he  tucked  away  carefully  in  the  bow  of 
the  boat,  and  beside  it  placed  even  more  care- 


296  LONELY  0*MALLEY 

folly  that  ponderous  old  muzzle-loader  from 
which  more  than  one  Chamboro  youth  of 
predatory  tendencies  had  tasted  the  bitter  sting 
of  rock-salt,  mostly  about  early  apple-time,  — 
and  especially  when  the  Captain's  graft  of 
Brandywine  Pears  on  his  Strawberry  Reds 
showed  the  right  d^ree  of  succulence. 

Then,  with  not  a  little  caution,  and  some 
stiffness  of  limb,  Cap'n  Sands  stepped  into 
the  Katie  Wilson  and  dropried,  perhaps  a 
little  unexpectedly,  down  into  her  comfortable 
wicker-backed  stern  seat. 

"  There  we  be  ! "  cried  Cap'n  Steiner,  leap- 
ing nimbly  aboard.  But  the  Katie  Wilson 
was  unused  to  such  unlooked  for  agility.  She 
careened  and  dipped,  and  for  a  critical  moment 
held  the  old  Captain  balanced  on  his  toes,  ap- 
parently undecided  whether  to  dive  headlong 
into  the  water,  or  drop  rather  shamefaced  down 
into  his  seat.  Once  comfortably  settled,  how- 
ever, the  green  boat  was  pushed  stealthily  off 
from  shore,  and  with  a  face  that  might  almost 
be  said  to  wear  a  scowl  of  dark  and  resolute 
purpose  old  Cap'n  Sands  gave  a  word  or  two 
of  command,  pulled  the  little  tiller-cord,  and 
swung  their  craft  round  in  pursuit  of  that 


PIRATES  ARE  PURSUED  297 

undreaming  demon  of  the  deep,  the  Grey- 
hound ! 

"The  young  limbs  —  he-he,  we'll  show  *em, 
eh,  Silas!"  he  chuckled  as  he  watched  the 
steady  and  regular  rise  and  fall  of  the  other's 
neatly  painted  little  green  oars.  *'  We  Ul  show 


A  Grown-Vfs  Toast 


Here  'j  to  each  Girl  of  Long  Agtt 
Once  loved,  and  lost,  alack. 

Just  big  enough,  or  iaJ  enough, 
T$  itpe  a  ieggur  beuk! 

II 

/  toast  the  True  Love,  and  the  Last, 
The  oaiHtliest,  and  the  Worst: 

But  here '/  /•  Her,  aertjs  the  years. 
We  kissed  emi  hvel  the  first ! 


CHAPTER  XI 


In  which  the  Greyhound  is  ignominious fy  overhauled 

DEVIOUSLY,  and  in  dark  ways,  docs 
Destiny  move.  Why  was  it,  that  serenest 
and  quietest  of  days,  under  a  dome  of  July's 
most  tranquil  azure,  that  there  was  no  befriend- 
ing voice  to  warn  Mistress  Pauline  Augusta 
Persons  of  the  danger  that  hung  over  her, 
of  the  calamity  that  awaited  her  ? 

Three  times,  that  morning,  she  had  been 
solemnly  wedded  to  Curly  Persons,  the  cocker 
spaniel,  before  an  altar  erected  for  the  purpose 
behind  the  chicken-coop.  After  each  ceremony 
she  had  generously  taken  her  somewhat  restive 
and  altogether  unimpressed  bridegroom  for 
an  extended  wedding-tour,  around  the  block, 
in  the  gardener's  wheelbarrow. 

Then,  tiring  of  courtship  so  one-sided,  she 
had  returned  to  her  three  dirty  and  battered 
dolls,  and  wandering  down  to  that  forbidden 
but  well-loved  pile  of  sawdust  just  below  the 
ice-house,  was  happily  engaged  in  conduct- 
ing funeral  services,  crooning  brokenly  to 


3oa  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

herself  as  she  paired  the  last  sod  down  over 
each  of  her  sadly  chipped  and  late-departed 
children. 

While  she  still  bent  with  much  satisfaction 
over  those  three  little  mounds  in  the  sawdust, 
and  was  carefully  erecting  a  tombstone  of  cedar 
shingle  to  the  memory  of  each  of  her  lost  ones, 
a  pair  of  small  but  grotesquely  tattooed  arms 
were  suddenly  thrust  round  her  plump  waist, 
and  a  bold  young  pirate  bore  her  struggling 
and  kicking  form  to  the  deck  of  the  waiting 
Greyhound. 

"  Push  off,  men  !  "  cried  the  Captain,  ner- 
vously, yet  huskily,  as  he  clambered  over  the 
bulwarks  with  considerable  difficulty,  Pauline 
Augusta  being  decidedly  round  and  plump  of 
figure. 

Here  at  last  was  an  adventure  worthy  of 
their  steel.  Here  was  something  worth  cap- 
turing. Pauline  Augusta  was  the  Mayor's 
daughter,  and  as  such  ought  to  bring  a  hand- 
some sum  in  ransom  money. 

But  they  had  not  drifted  out  to  midstream 
before  that  young  lady  b^an  to  realize  just 
what  was  happening  to  her.  As  she  beheld 
the  Greyhound  slowly  glide  farther  away  from 


THE  GREYHOUND  OVERHATTLED  303 

her  home  territory,  and  as  she  looked  into  the 
dark  visages  that  surrounded  her,  she  put  two 
chubby  hands  up  to  her  eyes  and  began  to 


BORE  HER,  STRUGGLING  AND  KICKING 

bawl,  and  bawl  with  a  vigor  that  startled  and 
disconcerted  even  the  bold  pirates  them- 
selves. 

The  First  Mate  ran  in  alarm  to  the  pro- 


.  iii  I 


m 


304  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

vision-chest  and  held  temptingly  out  before 
her  a  large  pot  of  currant  jelly,  and,  what  was 
to  him,  a  heart-breaking  slice  of  seedcake. 

But  still  Pauline  Augusta  bawled.  Then 
preserved  cherries  were  shown  her,  and  pickled 
walnuts  were  held  closely  under  her  nose,  that 
she  might  perchance  smell  of  their  deliciously 
pungent  odor,  and  forget  her  tears.  But  still 
she  bawled,  louder  than  before. 

It  was  no  time  for  half  measures.  The 
Second  Mate  was  for  putting  her  in  irons, 
and  locking  her  down  in  the  cabin.  But  the 
First  Mate  was  of  the  opinion  she  would 
begin  breaking  things  there,  and  like  as  not 
eat  everything  up  on  them  ;  and  then  where 
would  they  be  ?  —  especially  if  they  had  to 
stand  a  long  pursuit,  or  the  ransom  wasn't 
paid  right  off ! 

The  crew  looked  furtively  up  and  down  the 
river.  It  was  a  dangerous  game  they  were 
playing. 

"  Here,  you,"  said  the  Captain,  in  desper- 
ation. "  We  *re  pirates,  and  if  you  don't  stop 
that  yellin'  we  *li  hang  your  father !  Then 
we  '11  hang  your  mother,  as  well ;  and  if  that 
don't  do  any  good,  we  '11  hang  the  servant  girl, 


THE  GREYHOUND  OVERHAULED  305 

and  the  gardener,  and  the — the  whole  lot  o' 
you! 

"  Better  hang  her^  and  right  now !  "  growled 
Pud  Jones. 

At  that  Pauline  Augusta  broke  out  with 
renewed  vigor.  Her  lusty  cries  went  echoing 
from  bank  to  bank,  and  soon  brought  wonder- 
ing women  to  open  doorways,  and  barking 
dogs  to  the  water's  edge,  and  open-mouthed 
children  to  the  top  of  the  river  slope. 

The  Captain  gazed  up  and  down  the  river, 
for  once  nettled  and  undecided. 

"  I  guess,  men,  we 'd  better  make  for  Ran- 
kin's Woods,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  looking 
with  troubled  eyes  at  the  weeping  figure  of 
Pauline  Augusta. 

"  O-o-o-h !  O-o-o-oh !  I  wish  I  was  home ! 
I  want  to  go  home ! "  bawled  the  frightened 
child  perversely. 

"  An*  I  wish  you  was  home  too  1 "  said  the 
Captain,  devoutly. 

For  who  ever  heard  of  a  captive  carrying 
on  in  that  silly  way  ?  There  was  n't  a  pirate 
story  ever  written  that  had  any  bawling  in  it ! 
And  Lonely  tried  to  explain  to  her  that  on  the 
payment  of  two  thousand  dollars  in  gold  she 


3o6  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

was  to  be  promptly  handed  over  to  her  parents 
once  more.  He  even  intimated,  for  her  fiirther 
comfort,  that  any  dastard  that  spoke  in  aught 
but  gentle  words  to  her  should  promptly  swing 
from  a  yardarm. 

All  this  Pauline  Augusta  in  no  way  under- 
stood; but  while  she  was  wearing  her  grief 
away,  and  was  beginning  to  smell  with  slightly 
more  attentive  nose  at  the  many  delectable 
things  with  which  her  captors  had  surrounded 
her,  the  old  town  of  Chamboro  was  left  in 
the  well-churned  wake  of  the  Greyhound,  and 
the  midsummer  loneliness  of  the  upper  river 
lay  before  them. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  panting  rowers  dropped 
his  oar. 

"  Say,  you,  we  're  bein*  chased  I "  he  cried, 
shrilly.  And  twenty-two  round  and  startled 
ey^s  were  turned  in  the  direction  of  his  gaze, 
where  the  nose  of  a  femiliar-looking  green 
boat  crept  slowly  out  from  the  nearest  point. 

"  Why,  there 's  Grandpa  Steiner ! "  said  one 
of  the  oarsmen,  weakly. 

Pauline  Augusta's  expiring  sobs  were  com- 
pletely stilled.  All  eyes  watched  the  green 
boat  intently. 


THE  GREYHOUND  OVERHAULED  307 

"An*  there's  old  Cap'n  Sands!"  cried 
Pinkie  Ball,  with  openly  disturbed  counte- 
nance. 

«  Say,  Lonely,  don't  you  think  they  're  after 
us?"  asked  one  of  the  crew,  irreverently,  of 
his  Captain. 

"  Order,  there,  men  !  "  thundered  the  Cap- 
tain ;  still  looking  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye, 
however,  at  the  approaching  green  boat. 

"  I  say  we  sneak  for  Rankin's  Woods," 
suggested  Redney  McWilUams. 

The  Captain  pulled  his  hat  lower  over  his 
brow,  and  looked  at  his  men  with  unspeakable 
scorn.  A  fine  idea  had  come  to  him. 

«  If  this  ship  is  goin'  to  be  taken,  there 's 
only  one  thing  to  do !  She 's  got  to  be  scuttled, 
and  sent  to  the  bottom ! " 

It  sounded  so  grandiloquently  fine  that  for 
a  moment  or  two  it  smothered  all  criticism. 

«  Aw,  what 's  the  use  o'  talkin'  that  way. 
Lonely  ?  Did  n't  we  have  to  pay  three  dollars 
for  her  —  and  sweat  precious  hard  for  it,  too 
—  and  have  n't  we  been  workin'  hard  enough 
riggin'  her  up,  ever  since  ?  " 

It  was  Piggie  Brennan  who  lodged  this  sin- 
cere but  unofficial  complaint. 


3o8  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"  Don't  brandy  words  with  me  !  "  retorted 
the  Captain,  with  great  dignity.  "  Brandy," 
as  a  verb,  was  one  of  those  words  peculiarly 
his  own. 

"And  where  '11  we  git  hold  of  another 
boat?"  demanded  BifF  Perkins. 

"And  think  of  all  that  good  grub  bcin* 
wasted  !  "  dolefully  went  on  Pi^e  Brennan. 

Several  craven  spirits  even  dropped  their 
oars,  and  attempted  to  desert  their  posts. 

"  Stand  by  your  oars  !  "  roared  the  Captain, 
as  loudly  as  an  uncommonly  tight  belt  would 
permit.  And  one  by  one  the  crew  went  reluc- 
tantly back.  In  the  mean  time,  foot  by  foot, 
the  green  boat  was  bearing  down  on  them. 

"Stand  by  there.  Greyhound!"  cried  a  shrill 
old  voice  suddenly. 

How  Capttun  and  crew  thrilled  with  some- 
thing that  was  more  than  mere  fear  at  those 
wonderful  and  historic-sounding  words, — 
"  Stand  by  there !  "  —  How  many  a  Spanish 
Main  skipper  had  hearkened  to  the  same  dire 
command,  in  days  gone  by!  It  was  worth 
going  through,  even  though  they  vatre  cap^ 
tured  and  bound,  in  the  end,  thought  Lonely, 
with  his  keen  sense  for  dramatic  values.  He 


THE  GREYHOUND  OVERHAULED  309 

strode  grandly  back  and  forth  on  his  cabin 
roof,  intoxicated  with  the  magnificence  of  the 
situation. 

"  Now,  men,"  he  cried,  with  airy  defiance, 
his  hand  on  his  hip,  "  now,  men,  show  *em  a 
clean  pair  o'  heels  I " 

And  eight  anxious-eyed  youngsters  doubled 
up  and  tugged  at  their  oars  until  eight  small 
faces  were  a  uniform  crimson. 

"  It  *s  all  right  for  you  up  there  to  talk 
that  way,  Lonely  O'Malley,  but  I  tell  you 
I 'm  gittin'  water-blisters ! "  complained  the 
rebellious  Dode  Johnson,  between  strokes. 

"Together,  men!"  cried  Lonely,  drunk- 
enly,  inwardly  bemoaning  the  craven  spirit 
of  his  crew. 

"  If  you  was  doin'  a  little  of  this  rowin',  you 
wouldn't  feel  so  gay!"  said  Biff  Perkins, 
sulkily. 

"  Stend  by  there.  Greyhound,  or  we  '11  put 
a  ball  into  you!"  cried  the  pursuers  once 
more. 

"Say,  Piggie,  do  you  think  they're  just 
foolin'  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  ci  v,  a  little  tremu- 
lously. Piggie  was  busy  with  the  pump,  and 
did  not  have  bream  to  answer. 


310  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

By  this  time  the  enemy  was  alongside.  For 
the  first  time  the  Captain  and  crew  of  the  Grey- 
hound saw  that  the  privateer  was  really  and 
truly  armed. 

"  Say,  Lonely,  had  n't  we  better  pull  down 
that  silly  skull  and  cross-bones  ? "  su^ested 
Billie  Steiner. 

"  Remember  your  oaths,  men  ! "  was  the 
Captain's  unrelenting  reply. 

The  crew  of  the  Greyhound  would  have 
fled  in  a  body,  had  flight  been  possible.  As  it 
was,  eight  stalwart  seamen  stopped  rowing, 
and  looked  with  unhappy  eyes  at  the  enemy 
on  their  gunwale. 

"  Prepare  for  boarding  ! "  said  old  Cap'n 
Steiner,  hoarsely. 

"  Ay,  iy,  sir !  **  answered  Cap'n  Sands. 

The  green  nose  of  the  Katie  Wilson 
bumped  the  sturdy  side  of  the  Greyhound 
amidships,  whereat  the  entire  crew  of  the  latter 
bolted  for  their  cabin,  locking  themselves  se- 
curely in  and  peering  with  anxious  faces  from 
the  little  square  window  in  its  side. 

Cap'n  Sands  made  use  of  the  crook  in  his 
walking-stick  as  a  boarding-iron,  while  his  fel- 
low privateer  made  fast  the  little  boat.  Then 


i 


THE  GREYHOUND  OVERHAULED  311 

the  two  old  men  climbed  none  too  nimbly  on 
board.  It  had  been  a  stiff  row,  and  the  noon- 
day sun  hung  hot  and  relentless  over  the  quiet 
river. 

Together  the  boarding  party  of  two  saluted, 
gravely  and  gallantly. 

Captain  Lonely  O'Malley  of  the  good  ship 
Greyhound  gazed  indignantly  after  his  cow- 
ardly crew. 

"  Cow'rdy  custards !  *'  he  muttered,  under 
his  breath.  Then  he  turned  to  his  captors,  with 
his  arms  folded  over  his  chest. 

"  Well,  sirs,  what  will  you  ? "  he  demanded, 
drawing  the  peak  of  his  cap  down,  and  him- 
self up.  That,  he  remembered,  was  always  the 
way  they  said  it. 

"  This  good  ship,  sir,  by  right  of  capture  1 " 
answered  Cap'h  Steiner,  saluting  once  more. 

"  And  also  this  fair  lady  !  "  added  Cap'n 
Sands,  with  an  irrepressible  titter,  turning 
pompously  to  Pauline  Augusta,  who  stood 
looking  on,  with  slightly  distended  mouth. 

"  And  two  thousand  bars  of  Spanish  gold  !  " 
added  the  other  old  Captain. 

The  master  of  the  Greyhound  flushed  with 
embarrassment. 


Ii 


312  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"  I  guess  wc  ain't  got  any  gold,"  he  con- 
fessed, bashfully.  But  there 's  pickled  wal- 
nuts and  jelly ! " 

Pi^e  Brennan,  meanwhile,  repenting  of 
his  flight,  had  edged  back  to  his  Captain,  and 
stood  with  woe-begone  face  at  the  thought  of 
such  confiscation. 

The  two  old  sea-dogs  went  forward  to  con- 
sult. 

"  By  gad,  Silas,  I 'm  a-thinkin'  we  never  did 
that  thing  better,  in  our  own  day  !  ** 

It  was  Cap'n  Sands  who  spoke  thus  mag- 
nanimously. 

Cap'n  Steiner  was  rubbing  a  barked  leg, 
ruefully.  He  was  feeling  too  peevish,  at  the 
moment,  to  agree  with  the  statement. 

Far  away,  a  long  mile  down  the  hot  river, 
the  one  o'clock  whistle  sounded  from  the  saw- 
mill. It  was  like  a  school-bell  to  the  ears  of 
truants. 

The  two  old  Captains  started  up,  and  looked 
at  each  other  half  ^uiltily. 

"And  Miss  Ai  ila  is  gittin'  to  be  that 
naggy-minded,  when  I'm  a  bit  late  for  dinner !" 
Cap'n  Steiner  lamented. 

"  And  me,  egad,  with  Lawyer  Martin  to  see 


THE  GREYHOUND  OVERHAULED  313 

about  that  new  Rankin  lease ! "  said  Cap'n 
Sands,  unhappily. 

"  Better  be  pikin'  back,  had  n't  we,  Hen- 

ery?" 

"  I  guess  we  had,  Silas,  guess  we  had  !  But 
it  does  come  kind  o'  hard,  leavin'  all  this 

booty ! " 

Then  Captain  Lonely  O'Malley  of  the  Grey- 
hound strode  forward  with  a  suggestion  to 
make.  Tnsomuch  as  the  lady  they  carried  as 
captive  was  the  daughter  of  the  Mayor  of 
Chamboro,  and  was  being  held  for  a  ransom  of 
two  thousand  dollars  in  gold  (and  had  already 
eaten  forty  cents*  worth  of  provisions  since 
coming  on  board,  interposed  Piggie  Brennan), 
they,  the  Captain  and  crew  of  the  Greyhound, 
were  willing  to  surrender  to  their  captors  all 
claim  to  this  said  lady,  on  condition  that  no 
member  of  the  crew  of  the  said  Greyhound 
should  suffer  aught  of  curtailment  of  his  nat- 
ural life  or  liberty  1 

This,  after  some  show  of  reluctance,  was 
impatiently  agreed  to,  and  Captain  O'Malley 
retired  to  draw  up  the  necessary  paper. 

The  two  old  sea-dogs  and  Pauline  Augusta 
clambered  down  into  the  little  green  boat, 


LONELY  O'MALLEY 


each  and  all  of  them  thinking  sordidly  of 
dinner,  rather  than  of  further  adventures  on 
the  high  seas. 


A  PAPER,  SIGNED  IN  RED 


They  were  just  on  the  point  of  casting  off 
when  the  commander  of  the  Greyhound 
appeared  on  deck,  sucking  his  arm.  In  his 
hand  he  held  a  paper,  signed  in  red,  which  he 
gravely  handed  down  to  Cap'n  Steiner. 


THE  GREYHOUND  OVERHAULED  315 

And  even  then  Cap'n  Steiner  did  n't  seem 
to  remember  and  understand.  He  was,  in  fact, 
beginning  to  feel  uncommonly  tired  and  cross. 

**  It  has  to  be  signed,  sir,"  explained  the 
commander  of  the  Greyhound.  "  Has  to 
be  signed,  in  blood  !  " 

"Oh,  be  off  with  you  —  you  young  rap- 
scallion!" said  Cap'n  Sands,  irascibly,  for 
he  too  was  beginning  to  feel  strange  aches  and 
pangs.  "  Be  off  with  you,  you  young  limb  !  " 
Then  he  added  fretfully  :  "  I  tell  you,  Silas, 
I  *m  a-goin'  to  be  a  hull  hour  and  a  half  late 
for  dinner  ! " 

Going  home  he  settled  back  more  comfort- 
ably in  the  stern  seat,  and  tried  to  get  a  bit 
of  a  cat-nap,  lulled  by  the  ripple  of  the  water 
against  the  drifting  green  bow  of  the  little 
boat. 

"I  guess  we  do  be  a  leetle  on  in  years,  mebbe, 
for  them  kind  o' jinks,"  said  Cap'n  Steiner, 
plaintively,  tugging  and  puffing  at  his  oars. 

"  Jus'  a  leetle  on  in  years ! "  he  repeated, 
with  a  ponderous  sigh,  as  they  drew  in  under 
the  cool  and  heavy  shadows  of  the  old  syca- 
mores. 


A  Smmn  for  the  l^cry  Tomig 


If  the  Adam  tn  us  ordains 

That  we  ca**t  be  eternaily  good. 

Then  bt  us  be  kindtf  at  least,  my  sen. 
As  devil  tr  saint ,  we  sbtuld! 

II 

Tbo^  the  heit  of  us  wander  at  times 

Fr«m  the  path  that  is  narrow  and  straight, 

Te  be  hmest  in  Sin,  as  in  Saintliness,  sir, 
mpes  a  half    it  off  the  slate! 


CHAPTKR  XII 


/«  which  the  Biter  is  somewhat  bitten 

THE  pirates  of  Watterson's  Creek  sat 
about  the  deck  of  the  Greyhound, 
moodily  flinging  apple-cores  into  the  stream. 
Their  last  ounce  of  mullein-leaf  and  Indian 
tobacco  had  been  smoked  away.  A  spirit  of 
unrest  had  crept  over  the  idle  and  impatient 
crew,  as  they  waited  the  return  of  Pinkie  Ball. 
That  worthy  had  volunteered  to  purloin  from 
an  unsuspecting  mother's  sewing-room  a  whole 
rattan  rocking-chair,  which,  carefully  unwoven 
and  cut  up,  ought  to  supply  the  crew  of  the 
Greyhound  with  smoking-material  for  at  least 
a  week  to  come. 

The  pirates  had  been  on  an  extended  and 
enervating  cruise  of  several  hours,  up  the 
river,  and  were  now  anchored  in  midstream, 
as  a  precautionary  measure  against  sudden 
attack,  just  above  the  shadow  of  the  old  rail- 
way bridge.  A  long  and  wavering  line  of  cores, 
punctuated  here  and  there  by  malignantly  pale 
watermelon  rinds,  drifted  slowly  down  with 


320  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

the  languid  current,  and  attested  to  the  suc- 
cess of  their  raid  on  Farmer  Quinn's  apple 
orchard. 

But  still  the  pirates  were  unhappy.  The 
Greyhound  had  not  proved  a  success ;  and 
the  rainbow  tints  had  gone  out  of  their  piratical 
dreams.  For  a  week  eight  sad-eyed  small  boys 
had  been  limping  and  crawling  about  Cham- 
boro  with  the  bent  backs  and  the  halting  gait 
of  octogenarians. 

"  The  trouble  with  this  old  thing  is,"  said 
Redney  McWilliams,  with  considerable  dis- 
gust, "  she  ain't  got  no  speed  !  " 

He  spat  through  his  teeth  deliberately,  on 
one  of  those  little  piles  of  sand  which  lay 
heaped  upon  the  deck,  with  great  forethought, 
i^nst  the  time  when  the  Greyhound's  timbers 
might  become  slippery  with  blood. 

"  Rowin'  ain't  such  fun,  either  1 "  added 
Bilf  Perkins,  looking  pensively  at  the  water- 
blisters  on  his  hands. 

The  Captain  was  deep  in  thought.  That 
fact  you  could  tell  by  the  way  his  arms  were 
folded  across  his  chest,  and  by  the  unusually 
heavy  scowl  that  darkened  his  freckled  brow. 

«  Men,"  he  said,  presently,  striding  back 


THE  BITER  BITTEN  321 

and  forth  while  he  spoke, "  men,  we 've  got  to 
have  a  engine  for  this  ship  !  " 

Eight  oar-wielding  galley-slaves  sat  up  and 
gazed  at  one  another  in  open-mouthed  amaze- 
ment. Of  course ;  an  engine  was  just  the  thing ! 
Why  hadn't  some  one  ::hought  of  it  before? 
But  doubts  began  to  suggest  themselves. 

"  Then  we  can  have  an  awning  put  up," 
continued  the  Captain,  airily,  "and  just  sit 
there  in  the  shade  and  go  steamin'  around  and 
capture  whatever  we  like.  Then  I  guess  we 
won't  be  hearin'  so  much  aboot  water-blisters 
and  sore  hands  and  all  that  stuff! " 

Lonely  had  tried  in  vain,  weeks  before,  to 
instill  Spartan  views  into  his  crew.  He  had 
eloquently  advised  that  they  all  harden  them- 
selves, first  by  sleeping  on  broken  bricks,  then 
by  drinking  only  muddy  water,  and  by  eating 
things  uncooked  as  often  as  possible. 

"An'  we  could  have  a  whistle,  too,  could  n't 
we  ?  "  piped  up  little  Binney  Pennyfather,  the 
youngest  of  the  crew. 

"  Cert !  "  said  the  Captain. 

"  And  could  make  a  swell  after  us,  like  the 
Lone  Star ! " 

"  Course  ! "  said  the  Captain. 


322  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

That  the  Greyhound  could  ever  leave  a 
swell  behind  her  was  too  much  for  the  credul- 
ity of  her  labor-worn  crew. 

"  Huh  !  that 's  all  nice  enough,  talkin'  big 
that  way !  But  where 's  the  engine  comin' 
from  ?  "  demanded  Billie  Steiner. 

"  Where  *d  these  apples  come  from  ? "  asked 
his  laconic  Captain. 

"  Off  apple-trees,"  growled  BilHe.  Then 
a  spirit  of  gentle  sarcasm  crept  over  him. 
"  Any  of  you  fellows  seen  any  steam-engines 
growin'  on  apple-trees  up  your  way  ? " 

Billie,  together  with  the  First  Mate,  had 
partaken  somewhat  too  generously  of  unripe 
watermelon,  and  a  dolorous  stomach-ache 
tended  to  make  him  rather  fretful. 

"  You  ain't  fit  to  be  on  a  pirate  ship  I " 
said  his  worthy  Captain. 

«  I  wish  I  was  n't ! "  retorted  Billie. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  the  First  Mate,  dejectedly, 
as  he  returned  fi*om  a  fioiitless  inspection  of 
the  provision-chest. 

"  If  there  was  something  to  eat  about  a 
steam-engine,  I  guess  Piggie  *d  be  barkin'  on 
the  other  side  of  the  fence !  "  commented  Pud 
Jones. 


THE  BITER  BITTEN  323 

The  only  reply  to  this  was  an  apple-core 
that  stirred  the  turkey-feather  stuck  bristlingly 
in  Pud 's  pirate  hat. 

As  the  Captain  strode  perplexedly  back  and 
forth  across  his  deck  a  familiar  sound  smote 
on  his  ears.  He  clambered  up  on  his  cabin 
roof,  and  peered  down  into  the  shimmering 
river-distance,  with  a  face  illumined. 

It  was  the  Lone  Star,  Chamboro's  one  per- 
manent steamer,  coughing  and  churning  and 
wheezing  upstream,  with  a  small  raft  of  logs 
at  her  heels. 

And  at  the  sight  of  her  every  member  of 
that  crew  understood  just  what  his  Captain's 
thoughts  had  been!  The  Greyhound  had 
found  an  enemy  worthy  of  her  mettle. 

There  was  something  intoxicating  in  the 
thought  of  ever  taking  a  prize  so  ponderous. 
Yet  every  mau  on  the  Greyhound  knew 
there  was  no  other  craft  propelled  by  steam  in 
those  waters,  —  with  the  exception,  of  course, 
of  the  great  excursion  steamer  that  came  up 
the  river  twice  every  week.  But  the  excursion 
steamer,  for  the  time  being,  at  any  rate,  was 
out  of  the  question. 

"  Golly,  Lonely  ! "  said  Pud  Jones,  fasci- 


324  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

nated  and  yet  overawed  at  the  thought,  "  un't 
she  a  pretty  big  steamer  for  us  kids  to  talk 

about  capturin'  ? " 

The  pirate  Captain  looked  down  at  the 
Lone  Star  contemptuously. 

"  We 've  got  to  have  her,  men ! "  he  said, 
relentlessly. 

They  saw  the  wheelsman  push  off  from  her 
in  a  punt,  and  scull  about  picking  up  loose 
logs,  where  his  boom  had  disjointed. 

This  left  only  old  Brown,  the  engineer,  on 
board.  Having  rounded  up  his  logs,  the 
wheelsman  sculled  back  to  the  tug,  where  the 
engineer  stooped  down  over  the  gunwale  and 
handed  him  a  tin  pail.  Then  he  sculled 
briskly  ashore,  and  disappeared  through  the 
doorway  of  Allen's  Saloon. 

Such  a  chance  was  too  much  for  the  Napo- 
leonic soul  of  Captain  Lonely  O'Malley.  He 
climbed  down  from  his  cabin,  and  with  a  de- 
termined hitch  at  his  trousers  stalked  for- 
ward. 

"  Every  man  who 's  for  capturin'  the  Lone 
Star,  this  side  !  "  he  said,  coldly,  yet  challeng- 
ingly. 

There  was  a  moment  of  hesitation  and  doubt. 


THE  BITER  BITTEN  325 

followed  by  a  murmur  of  questioning  admira- 
tion. Then  one  by  one  the  entire  crew  of  the 
Greyhound  came  over  and  stood  exultingly 
beside  their  Captain.  No  pirate  likes  to  be 
called  a  coward.  But  —  well,  they  were  in  for 
it  now,  anyway. 

Old  Brown,  the  engineer  of  the  Lone  Star, 
was  eating  his  frugal  lunch  from  a  wicker 
basket,  on  the  starboard  side  of  his  little  pro- 
peller,—  as  one  might  plainly  see  from  the 
cant  of  her  deck,  for  the  worthy  engineer  was 
very  fat.  He  was  waiting,  somewhat  impa- 
tiently, for  the  return  of  the  wheelsman  and 
the  tin  pail.  Then  suddenly  he  thought  he 
heard  the  creak  of  oars  out  in  the  river 
near  by. 

Without  so  much  as  rising  from  his  seat, 
he  twisted  his  head  around  the  back  corner  of 
his  smoke-stained  little  cabin. 

As  he  thus  exposed  himself  to  the  enemy, 
a  flat-headed  arrow,  most  carefully  aimed, 
whistled  past  his  right  ear.  And  he  beheld,  at 
the  same  moment,  a  sight  that  almost  made 
his  honest  blue  eyes  pop  out. 

For  crawling  up  to  him,  right  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Lone  Star,  was  a  long  black 


326  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

ship  flying  a  skull  and  cross-bones,  —  a  ship 
with  eleven  scowling  men.  on  her  carefully 
sanded  deck. 

Old  Brown,  in  fact,  held  a  piece  of  cold 
boiled  mutton  in  his  hand,  which  he  was  in 
the  very  act  of  conveying  to  his  mouth.  In- 
stead of  this,  he  let  it  drop  unnoticed  on  the 
deck  floor  of  the  Lone  Star.  For  what  man 
is  going  to  he  altogether  self-possessed  when 
he  sees  no  less  than  seven  key  guns  leveled 
at  him  ? 

"  Stand  by  there  an'  surrender,"  cried  a 
shrill  and  threatening  young  voice,  "  or  we  *11 
blow  you  out  of  the  water ! " 

The  corpulent  old  engineer  said  nothing, 
but  still  looked  at  them  with  dazed  and  pop- 
ping eyes.  The  n«ct  moment  the  teeth  of  the 
pirates'  boarding-irons  had  fastened  like  wolf- 
fangs  on  the  bulwarks  of  the  helpless  Lone 
Star. 

It  took  but  a  second  for  the  Captain,  fol- 
lowed by  his  crew,  to  scramble  aboard  their 
prize. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  easy  enough,"  said  the 
Captain,  sotto  voce,  over  his  shoulder,  "if  you 
only  take  'em  unexpected  ! " 


THE  BITER  BITTEN  327 

The  pirates  found  it  impossible  to  repress 
a  cheer  of  victmy,  as  they  swarmed  down  the 

deck  of  the  enemy. 

It  was  then  that  the  fat  old  engineer  slowly 
wiped  his  mouth,  and  as  slowly  said  some- 
thing, under  his  breath,  which  ought  not  to  be 
repeated.  Lonely,  at  the  moment,  was  hur- 
riedly inspecting  his  new  engine  room.  Then 
he  turned  to  the  enemy  himself. 

"  Of  course  you  're  captured  ?  "  he  an- 
nounced calmly,  yet  mercilessly. 

"  Yes,  you  're  captured ! "  cried  the  delirious 
pirate  crew,  surrounding  him. 

"  Sure ! "  said  the  engineer,  meekly,  brush- 
ing the  crumbs  firom  his  oily  trousers-legs. 

**  Men,  take  possession  ! " 

Then  Captain  O'Malley  turned  to  the 
engineer  once  more,  his  forgotten  gallantry 
coming  back  to  him  just  in  time. 

"  I 'm  sorry,  of  course,  but  I  guess  we  '11 
have  to  take  you  in  tow !  They  always  do, 
you  know ! " 

"  Sure ! "  answered  the  engineer  again, 
stretching  himself  with  a  fine  assumption  of 
unconcern,  which  even  the  pirate  Captain 
could  see  through. 


328  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

**  Here,  First  Mate,  swing  the  Greyhound 
round  aft,  while  I  throw  you  a  line ! " 

The  only  line  in  sight  was  twenty  feet  or 
so  of  logging-chain.  It  was  too  much  for  the 
strength  of  the  pirate  Captain. 

**  Give  you  a  hand,  Cap'n  ? "  mildly  inquired 
the  engineer,  lighting  up  his  pipe  as  he  came 
forward. 

"  Thanks,  yes,"  responded  the  pirate  chief, 
with  a  loftiness  of  tone  that  all  but  took  the 
old  engineer's  breath  away. 

"  Keep  an  eye  out,  men,  for  treachVy ! " 
came  the  shrill  cry  of  their  leader,  as  he  ordered 
his  crew  once  more  on  board  their  ship. 

But  the  warning  was  uncalled  for,  and 
somewhat  regretted  when  once  it  was  uttered, 
for  with  his  own  hand  the  resigned  old  en- 
gineer slipped  the  chain  through  the  iron- 
cased  hawse-hole  of  the  Greyhound  and  made 
his  tug  fast  to  her  stern. 

As  he  climbed  languidly  on  board  again  the 
wheelsman  appeared,  smoking  a  bilious- hued 
cheroot. 

"  What 's  all  this  here  monkey  work 
mean  ?  *'  he  demanded  angrily. 

"  Shh,  Bill  1 "  the  engineer  cried,  holding  up 


330  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

a  warning  finger.  "  We  're  captured,  man,  can't 
you  see?" 

Then  he  said  something  to  the  wheelsman 
which  the  pirates  on  board  the  Greyhound 
could  not  hear.  But  they  saw  the  wheelwnan 
nod  his  head,  slowly  and  dejectedly.  He,  too, 
they  hoped,  was  ^ng  to  take  his  medicine 

like  a  man. 

Then  the  wheelsman  went  forward,  still 
wagging  his  head,  and  slipped  his  bow  lin^ 
off  the  pile  to  which  he  had  tied,    li  next 
minute  the  pirates  heard  the  sharp  '  cUng 
ding"  of  the  engine-room  signal-bell. 
"  Now  vou 've  got  lis,  boys,  go  ah  id  '  " 
i  i  was  the  old  engineer  speaking,  v.  ith  his 
oily  head  stuck  out  of  his  little  blackened 
doorway. 

Even  as  he  spoke  hts  hand  went  up  to  the 
lever,  and  a  moment  tecr  the  screw  oS  the 
Lone  Star  was  tkre^i^  t^  water  a?  »i*e 
Witt  swinging  briskly  csit  to  mi^tream. 

The  pirate  crew  ^»«d  in  petri&v  ^ 
ment.  Then  they  c«Be  slawl   ^  >  their 
and  tried  in  vain  m  cast  M  the  chair  't 
held   them.    In    vs  n   tht  'ded   r  r 

hatchets  on  the  heavf  lisks  oi  In  vain 


TH     AVT  ^  BIT'  EN  j' 

th  ta  n  'Mya<.  the  ompt  and  eifi- 
cient  8itii^  ig  the  Grcyli  and.  In  vatn 
thev  ei^Ktsted  their  ammunition  on  the 
p«ii^k^    and  imperturbable  s«»m-boards  of 

R^te  down  through  the  heart  of  Cha  ro, 
where   len  and  women  and  children,  at  ng 
(  n    vr  brid^,  and  docks,  and  river- 1 
b-heid  and  Sughed  at  their  ignominious  h 
l^sess,  rig     down  past  Ellis's  Brick  ^ 
and  the  uy^  cr  Lime  Kiln  they  were  towed, 
thr.e  good  miles  from  their  anchorage. 

"  Now,  row  back,  you  thievin'  young  row- 
lies  Row  back,  and  m^hLe  that  '11  sweat  some 
)'      se  gay  pirit  notions  out  o'  you  !  " 

\nd  the  Lone  Star  cast  off,  and  bustled 
unconcernedly  down  about  her  o^  private 
business,  whistling  a  final  brazen  taunt  as  she 
rounded  a  shadowy  bend  and  disappeared 
from  sight. 


Forbidden  Ground 


ff^ben  tee  wi  re  young,  and  small,  and  bad, 

We  mostly  spent  our  time  ■■■ 
Our  neighbors'  orckards,  though  we  had 

Our  own  fruit-trees  to  climb  in 
We  knew  'twas  wrong,  and  so  were  glad: 

That  fact,  sir,  lay  the  crime  in  ! 

To  do  the  thing  that's  wrong  seems  Law, 
Law  we,  and  Adam,  found  it  I 

The  chamber  Bluebeard* s  wife  ne'er  saw, 
Ob,  how  she  hnged  to  sound  it ! 

And  how  life's  colts  eat  buckwheat  straw 
mtb  eight-railed  fences  round  it  I 

Those  dreams  for  which  we  search  and  bleed 

Are  things  of  untold  blisses ; 
The  love  we  always  tvant  and  need 

Is  the  love  one  loses,  misses  ; 
The  dearest  lips  are  those,  indeed. 

That  never  knew  our  kisses! 


CHAPTER  XIII 


In  which  Youth  is  stripped  of  ks  Gkry 

NOT  a  breeze  was  stirring.  The  after- 
noon was  hot  and  humid  and  opales- 
cent. The  last  crumb  in  the  Greyhound's 
provision-chest  had  long  since  been  made  away 
with.  Never  before  had  the  current  of  the 
languid  old  river  seemed  so  relentless,  so  in- 
domitable, 80  doggedly  unflagging. 

The  crushed  and  broken  Captain  had  even 
suggested  that  he  speed  home  by  land,  and 
return  secretly  with  Plato  and  a  clothes-line  or 
two,  that  the  Greyhound  might  be  towed 
back  to  her  anchorage  after  the  fashion  of  the 
more  humble  and  decorous  canal-boat.  But 
the  mutinous  crew  would  have  none  of  this 
demeaning  method  of  locomotion.  The  Grey- 
hoxxnd  could  do  what  she  liked.  They  were 
going  swimming. 

The  disconsolate  pirates  of  Watterson's 
Creek  got  only  as  far  as  the  lower  town  swim- 
ming-hole. Here,  after  a  brief  but  bitter 
battle,  with  missiles  taken  aboard  for  the  pur- 


336  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

pose  at  the  Brick  Yard,  the  rightful  possessors 
of  that  hole  were  sent  scuttling  ashore,  to 
become  united  to  their  wearing  apparel  later, 
behind  any  friendly  shrubbery  and  any  con- 
venient fence-boards  that  might  offer. 

The  victors  swung  the  Greyhound  in 
under  one  of  the  big  elms,  canopied  and  fes- 
tooned with  wild  grapevines,  and  there  made 
her  fast. 

Then  they  stripped,  to  a  man,  in  her  little 
cabin.  Piggie  Brennan  alone  was  somewhat 
tardy  about  removing  his  shirt,  having  dis- 
covered that  the  heat  of  battle  had  taken  the 
color  out  of  sundry  mysterious  little  pieces  of 
hair-ribbon  carried  gallantly  in  his  bosom,  and 
being  anxious  to  avoid  «cplanation  as  to  how 
numerous  vivid  blue  and  crimson  spots 
chanced  to  adorn  his  unusually  fair  slun. 

Then  one  by  one  the  boys  "took  their 
duck,"  diving  in  rapid  succession  from  the 
rudder-stem  of  the  Greyhound,  cutting  the 
surface  crisply,  gasping  and  blowing  and 
shaking  dripping  heads  as  they  emerged  from 
the  cool  yellow  depths  of  the  shaded  water. 

Then  their  new-born  energy  took  the  form 
of  a  game  of  foUow-the-leader,  consisting  of 


YOUTH  STRIPPED  OF  ITS  GLORY  337 

gleeful  plungings  from  the  cabin  roof,"  bring- 
ing up  bottom,"  "  treading  water,"  and  **  parting 
the  hair."  Tiring  of  this,  in  time,  the  eleven 
young  disciples  of  piracy  drifted  down  to  the 
swimming-hole  itself.  Here  they  had  a  game 
of  squat  tag,  on  land,  only  stopping  to  shriek 
and  dance  and  gyrate,  shamelessly  and  in  uni- 
son, as  the  excursion  steamer  appeared  round 
the  bend  and  raced  imperturbably  past. 

Then  they  made  a  water-slide  in  the  bank 
of  blue  clay,  down  which  they  tobogganed,  feet 
first,  flat  on  their  backs.  This  clay  was  not  of 
the  purest,  however,  having  certain  small  but 
sharp-angled  pieces  of  flint  running  generously 
through  it.  One  slide,  and  one  only,  proved 
sufficient  for  each  member  of  the  Grey- 
hound's crew. 

Then  a  goodly  puddle  of  blue  clay  ooze  was 
deftly  kneaded  into  existence.  This  was  joy- 
ously applied  to  eleven  naked  young  bodies, 
until  those  children  of  sober  Chamboro  looked 
sadly  like  eleven  expatriated  South  Sea  Isl- 
anders. 

Then  came  the  embellishing  and  ornamental 
phase,  which  with  one  pi'-ate  consisted  in  mak- 
ing cryptic  crosses  and  circles  on  all  parts  of 


338  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

his  anatomy  ;  with  another,  zebra-like  stripes 
from  head  to  foot;  with  another,  a  close- 
grained  effect  such  as  one  often  sees  on  quar- 
tered oak  furniture ;  with  still  another  a  copi- 
ous sprinkling  of  French  knots  and  polka-<iot». 

Back-aches  and  water-blisters,  disappoint- 
ments and  humiliations,  defeats  and  degrada- 
tions,—  all  were  foi^tten  under  the  magic 
spell  of  that  soothing  and  caressing  blue  clay, 
and  that  dissolving,  rejuvenating,  lukewarm, 
yellow-tinted  water  of  the  sun-steeped  swim- 
ming-hole. Caesar  took  no  thought  of  his 
crown ;  Antony  had  discovered  something 
sweeter  than  ambition ;  Ponce  de  Leon  had 
found  something  finer  than  Mexican  gold  !  — 
the  very  fountain  of  youth  and  joy  itself! 

When  tired  of  disporting  themselves,  por- 
poise-like, under  and  through  and  over  the 
water,  the  eleven  young  barbarians  clambered 
up  the  river-bank,  to  a  warm  and  dusty  sand- 
wallow,  soaking  in  the  gentle  heat,  at  peace 
with  themselves  and  all  the  world. 

There,  with  twitching  toes  and  blinking 
eyes,  gazing  lazily  up  into  the  great  blue  vault 
above  them,  they  fell  into  a  dreamy  and  dis- 
jointed argument  as  to  just  where  Heaven  was. 


YOUTH  STRIPPED  OF  ITS  GLORY  339 

Then  they  digressed  to  gentle  speculations  as 
to  the  nature  of  the  Hereafter,  and  whether  or 
not  there  were  real  angels,and  just  what  persons 
in  Chaniboro  had  ever  seen  a  ghost.  And 
were  there  such  things  as  witches,  and  what 
was  a  sure  cure  for  warts  ? 

Yet  even  while  these  eleven  brooding  philo- 
sophers lay  disporting  themselves  in  the  warm 
afternoon  sunlight,  sans  scowls,  sans  firearms, 
sans  clothing,  sans  watch  or  outlook  —  whilst, 
I  repeat,  these  eleven  contented  and  motion- 
less figures  lay  heavily  incased  in  a  shell  of 
blue  clay,  stretched  out,  gazing  up  at  the 
unfathomable  sky  and  waiting  for  that  earthly 
pigment  to  harden  and  whiten  about  their 
youthful  ribs,  the  rotund  figure  of  none  other 
than  the  town  constable  ot  Chamboro  was 
being  rowed  to  the  very  nose  of  the  Grey- 
hound, silently  and  cautiously,  by  a  stalwart 
scion  of  the  Chamboro  Boat-House. 

And  while  those  eleven  pensively  happy 
spirits  still  lay  stretched  out  on  the  sand-bank, 
still  blinking  at  the  sky  about  which  they  had 
been  holding  metaphysical  question,  the  how- 
line  of  their  gallant  ship  was  noiselessly  untied 
and  taken  possession  of,  and  in  three  minutes 


340  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

the  Greyhound  herself  was  slipping  silently 
around  the  river-bend,  gliding  out  of  sight 
insubstantially,  like  the  shadow  of  a  dream. 

It  was  Pud  Jones,  returning  to  the  Grey- 
hound for  matches,  who,  white  of  face  and 
round  of  eye,  first  reported  the  loss. 

«*  Hi,  there,  you  fellas ! "  he  screamed  down 
at  the  idling  dreamers;  ''somebody's  pinched 

our  boat !  " 

Alarming  and  unhappy  indeed  was  the  half- 
hour  that  followed.  In  vain  the  pirate  crew 
scurried  overland  to  the  road  fence,  and  with 
much  shouting  and  gesticulating  from  behind 
screening  shrubbery,  tried  to  stop  some  pass- 
ing farm-wagon.  Binncy  Pennyfiither,  he  most 
youthful  of  the  unfortunates,  even  began  to  cry 
and  wish  that  he  was  dead. 

It  was  Captain  O'Malley  alone  who  rose  to 
the  occasion.  He  quickly,  though  somewhat 
rudely,  wove  for  himself  a  skirt  of  wild  grape- 
vines. This,  after  many  mishaps  and  disap- 
pointments, he  fastened  gingerly  about  his 
wust. 

At  a  costume  so  Adamical  the  entire  pirate 
crew  suddenly  forgot  their  woes,  and,  seeing 
that  he  was  adding  to  their  joy  in  life.  Lonely 


YOUTH  STRIPPED  OF  ITS  GLORY  341 

promptly  fell  to  showing  off,  dancing  an  im- 
provised skirt-dance  for  their  delectation. 
"  I 'd  rather  go  stark  naked  'n  cut  a  figger 


AN  IMHIOVI8ED  SKIRT-DANCE 


like  that ! "  solemnly  declared  the  First 
Mate,  as  their  derisive  shouts  of  laughter  died 
forlornly  away.  For  with  the  lowering  sun 
came  a  greater  coolness  of  air,  and  sadly  and 


342  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

poignantly  the  pirates  of  Watterson's  Creek 
learned  what  a  helpless  and  dependent  animal 
is  man,  in  the  natural  state. 

What,  eventually,  would  have  become  of 
those  eleven  mud-smeared  young  savages,  left 
thus  unconsciously  destitute,  it  would  be  hard 
to  say,  had  not  the  Lone  Star  come  churning 
and  puffing  and  grunting  once  more  up  the 
river,  with  a  scow-load  of  red  brick  for  the 
new  Chamboro  courthouse. 

The  fat  old  engineer  happened  to  hear  their 
sudden  woeful  chorus  of  cries — indeed,  they 
could  have  been  heard  two  good  miles  away, 
through  the  quiet  and  cooling  evening  air. 
Poking  his  astonished  head  out  of  his  warm 
little  engine-room,  he  beheld  eleven  gaunt, 
grayish-hued  figures  huddled  forlornly  about 
a  tiny  fire  on  the  breezy  river-bank.  He  had 
to  look  several  times,  before  he  could  quite 
make  them  out,  for  the  remnants  of  their  blue- 
clay  coating  tended  to  give  them  both  an 
unfamiliar  and  an  uncouthly  exotic  appearance. 

If  that  sight  awdK  in  his  honest  and 
generous  old  soul  any  stray  sign  or  sense  of 
merriment,  he  thoughtftilly  had  his  laugh  out 
alone,  in  the  quietn^  of  hu  engine-room. 


YOUTH  STRIPPED  OF  ITS  GLORY  343 

before  swinging  round  and  taking  those  eleven 
forlorn  passengers  aboard. 

"My  cookie-pie ! "  was  his  solitary  though 
forceful  ejaculfttion,  as  he  packed  the  lot  of 
them  down  in  his  warm  little  engine-room, 
where  they  sat  apprehensively,  and  in  mel- 
ancholy silence,  pondering  over  just  what 
ultimate  fate  that  day  had  in  store  for  them. 
From  the  Captain  himself  the  old-time 
hauteur  of  the  pirate  had  fallen,  —  for  what 
is  there  imposing  about  even  the  boldest  buc- 
caneer, when  seen  without  frill  or  furbelow  ! 

As  the  Lone  Star  swung  slowly  into  Ran- 
kin's Dock  that  night  eleven  silhouetted  heads 
gazed  anxiously  out  from  the  ruddy  doorway 
of  her  engine-room. 

Most  of  the  town  of  Chamboro  seemed 
crowded  about  the  little  wharf,  dotted  with 
lights,  where  many  of  the  noisy  throng  carried 
lanterns.  Men  and  women,  together  with  small 
children  who  ought  to  have  been  abed  hours 
before,  stood  grouped  about  a  dark,  low-lying 
mysterious  form  that  swung  in  the  water  just 
under  the  nose  of  the  Lone  Star. 

That  mvsterious  form  bore  the  ponderous 
official  padlocks  of  the  Corporation  of  Cham- 


344  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

boro.  And  there  it  had  been  securely  chained 
and  imprisoned  by  that  corporation's  constable, 
after  which  solemn  act  he  had  plodded  stolidly 
off  to  1  belated  supper,  with  lips  pursed  up  in 
sphinx-hkr,'  silence,  quite  satisfied  with  a  hard 
day's  work  well  done. 

But  as  the  evening  had  crept  on  certwn  stern 
fathers  grew  restive,  and  more  than  one  anx- 
ious-eyed mother  seemed  paler  of  face  than 
before.  A  boy's  straw  hat  had  been  found 
floating  on  the  river.  Wild  rumors  suddenly 
began  to  creep  through  the  town.  Some  one 
had  heard  loud  screams,  down  below  Ellis's 
Brick  Yard ;  a  capsized  boat  had  been  seen  ! 

One  by  one  families  came  out  to  talk  it  all 
over.  Then  a  voice  from  the  crowd  suggested 
going  up  to  Aleck  Brown's  for  the  dragging- 
irons,  and  a  muffled  sob  or  two  broke  invol- 
untarily from  the  throat  of  more  than  one 
woman  waiting  on  the  little  wharf. 

It  was  just  at  this  point  that  the  Lone  Star 
came  puffing  importantly  up,  and  from  her 
engine-room  was  first  seen  that  strange  group 
of  disheveled  and  bobbing  heads. 

Fathers  who  had  been  meekly  ruminating 
as  to  how  they  had  misunderstood  their  young 


YOUTH  STRIPPED  OF  ITS  GLORY  345 

sons,  who  had  been  thinking  how  much  good 
there  really  had  been  in  this  or  that  particular 
boy,  and  how  much  more  forbearing  they 
ought  to  have  been  in  the  old  days,  suddenly 
grew  worldly  and  cold  and  hard-hearted.  And 
women  who  had  '>cen  very  quiet,  and  had  said 
nothing,  could  no  longer  kt  ep  back  the  foolish 
tnrs. 

Then  the  mei.  i.eDsly  austere  voice  of 
the  Reverend  Ezra  Sampson,  the  Rector  of 
All  Saints,  sounded  out  above  the  murmur 
of  the  crowd. 

He  was,  obviously,  addressing  the  phleg- 
matic old  engineer  of  the  Lone  Star. 

"  Mr.  Brown,  can  it  be  possible,  sir,  that 
those  are  our  boys,  whom  you  have  thus 
strangely  secreted  in  your  engine-room  ?  " 

"  They  be ! "  answered  Mr.  Brown,  not 
over-pleased  at  the  Rector's  tone  of  voice. 
«  They  be  —  the  whole  kit  of  'em  1 " 

At  that  precise  moment  the  Rector  of  All 
Saints  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  what 
appeared  to  be  his  son,  Lionel  Clarence  — 
more  commonly  known  among  his  comrades 
of  late  as  "  Shag,"  or  sometimes  as  "Slugger" 
Sampson.   It  was  only  fitting,  as  the  leader 


346  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

of  his  flock,  that  Lionel's  father  should  sternly 
take  the  initiative. 

"  Lionel  Clarence  Sampson,  come  here  at 
once,  sir !  "  the  stern  parent  demanded. 

There  was  no  answer  to  this,  and  after  a 
moment's  ominous  silence  the  command  was 
repeated. 

"Obey  your  fiithcr,  Lionel,  whatever  the 
outcome,  or  however  painful  it  may  be  for 
you,"  called  Mrs.  Sampson,  who  had  been 
weeping  a  little  toward  the  last. 

"  Do  you  mean  that,  ma'm  ? "  asked  the 
old  engineer,  pointedly. 

"  Certainly  she  means  it,  my  good  man  !  " 
It  was  the  Rector  who  now  spoke,  a  little 
impatiently.  But  still  no  boy  appeared. 

"Shall  1  fetch  'im,  ma'm?"  gleefully 
suggested  the  old  engineer. 

"  No,  he  must  come  of  his  own  free  will  1 " 
«  Mebbe !  "  said  Mr.  Brown,  softly,  "  meb- 
be!" 

"  Lionel  Clarence  Sampson,  come  out  from 
your  hiding-place  at  once,  sir,  !»nd  receive 
that  chastisement  which  you  have  so  richly 
merited ! " 

There  was  another  painful  silence,  and  then 


YOUTH  STRIPPED  OF  ITS  -GLORY  347 

a  tremulous  and  whining  voice  was  heard  to 
say: 

"Pa,  I  —  I  can't!  We  ain't —  we  aren't  — 
Tou  tell  him,  Mr.  Brown ! " 

The  old  engineer  stepped  slowly  over  and 
whispered  something  in  the  ear  of  the  Rector. 

"  Sir  ?  "  ejaculated  the  Preacher. 

Thereat  the  engineer  repeated  what  he  had 
said. 

At  this  the  Preacher  put  up  his  hands; 
then,  recovering  his  official  dignity,  whispered 
something  in  turn  into  the  ears  of  those  close 
beside  him.  Then  there  was  more  whispering, 
and  only  the  men  remained  in  the  front  ranks 
of  the  watchers,  while  messengers  were  sent 
hurriedly  and  mysteriously  to  all  quarters  of 
the  little  town  of  Chamboro. 

Long  before  their  return,  however,  old 
Cap'n  Sands  and  the  Lone  Star  engineer  had 
had  a  little  private  talk.  This  resulted  in  the 
old  Cap'n's  valiantly  setting  at  defiance  all 
municipal  authority,  and  with  his  own  incensed 
hand  chopping  down  the  padlocked  cabin  door 
of  the  Greyhound,  declaring  in  no  uncertain 
language,  as  he  did  so,  that  a  certain  fat-headed 
old  constable  was  n't  fit  to  herd  she-goats ! 


348  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

But  most  of  the  older  heads  of  Chamboro 
did  not  take  the  old  Cap'n's  view  of  the  case. 
For  more  than  one  parent  sternly  and  promptly 
boarded  the  Lone  Star,  and  finding  a  son  in 
that  altogether  too  tempting  state  of  prepared- 
ness, spanked  hina  vigorously,  soundly,  and 
publicly. 

Yet  the  crudest  blow  fell  on  Captain  Lonely 
O'Malley  himself.   That  worthy  buccaneer, 
emerging  from  the  engine-room,  was  kicked 
at  inadequately  by  an  inebriate  father,  only  to 
escape  into  the  arms  of  a  tearful  young  mother, 
who  seized  him  bodily  and  held  him  to  her 
breast.  In  vain  Lonely  struggled  and  remon- 
strated ;  in  vain  he  wriggled  and  twisted,  hot 
and  tingling  with  the  disgrace  of  such  an  ex- 
hibition.   Still  that  young  mother  held  him 
and  wept  over   him,  wept  over  him,  in- 
deed, as  though  he  I»id  been  an  infimt  in 
Mfms! 

And  from  Raidun's  Doek  Aat  night  eleven 
beid  |»n^  wtm  home  throngh  the  nmsy 
sMts  ^fChmmhomi  some  with  aching  hearts, 
all  iwritadBng  legs.  With  the  passing  of  those 
little  mAm,  for  eleven  redoububle  youths  the 
i  fMnanw  paiif  d  mt  nf  piracy.  From  that  time 


YOUTH  STRIPPED  OF  ITS  GLORY  349 

on  all  such  adventuring  faded  into  the  light  of 
common  day.  And  for  all  time,  henceforth, 
it  was  ordained  that  one  more  door  to  the  king- 
dom of  enchantment  should  stand  barred  and 
locked  to  them. 


T6e  Child  who    arried  Not 


A  bird  of  passage  on  the  King 

T»M  pruoti  t«  us  akne! 
Where  mm,  in  their  far  wandering, 

Hetve  tbtse  ^ht  pmmt  jlmmt 

And  yet  you  filed  all  life  with  song. 

For  one  too  happy  day  ! 
Then  over  seas,  where 

Ton  winged  your  Imtif  may  t 

How  could  we  kiio'iV,  O  Child,  you  stayed 

A  momentary  gntst, 
Whose  fond  but  fleetk^  freiente  msdt 

These  Unefy        tktir  rest? 

For,  since  you  fared  from  us  ^ain 

One       our  Aprils  Uotk, 
One  nottt  m  patr  by  yemr  in  vain 

Wt  wemh  the  hkds  tome  hek  ! 


CHAPTER  XIV 


In  whicbf  at  last,,  we  find  a  Htr» 

ILL-ADVISED,  for  many  a  week  to  come, 
was  the  man  who  mentioned  piracy  withm 
the  four  gates  of  Chamboro. 

Not  that  Lonely  and  his  followers  lost  all 
that  ancient  and  timeless  exuberance  of  animal 
spirits  which  clings  eternally  to  youth,— as 
the  fire  in  the  Barrisons'  stable-loft,  and  the 
blowing  up  of  old  Witherspoon's  garden  wheel- 
barrow, with  gunpowder,  eloquently  enough 
testified. 

But  in  Chamboro,  just  between  early  harvest 
apple-time  and  the  muskmelon  season,  there 
was  one  particular  spot  round  which  the 
thoofbts  and  fancies  of  the  boy-mind  invari- 
ably and  ever  wistfully  centred. 

This  spot  was  CapV.  Steiner's  orchard. 
For  in  that  well-guarded  little  riverside  do 
main  bloomed  the  one  tree  of  Chamboro's 
forbidden  fruit,  a  strange  and  legendary  trang, 
of  more  than  earthly  trunk  and  leaves,  wl»<^ 
made  the  old  Captain  s  high  board  fe^,  »ili- 


354  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

tantly  sunnountcd  by  a  many-pronged  barbed 
wire,  seem  strangely  like  the  wall  which  once 
shut  the  children  of  Adam  out  of  the  Garden 
of  Eden. 

Some  thirty  years  ago,  while  pottering 
about  among  his  fancy  fruit-trees,  Cap'n 
Steiner  had  made  an  experiment.  On  a  bough 
of  one  of  his  vigorous  young  Strawbeiry  Reds 
he  had  grafted  the  sprig  of  a  Irandywine  pear. 
Then  be  had  carefully  bound  the  wound 
with  grafting-wax  and  a  fkm  of  Miss  Ara- 
bella's old  iannel  petticott— AaAeia,  ia 
duMe  days,  the  older  men  htU\,  was  rarely 
comely  and  rosy-cheeked — and  waited  some- 
what doubtfully  for  the  outcome. 

The  strange  marriage  of  aliens  was  an  un- 
looked-for success.  The  Strawberry  Red  took 
kindly  to  the  Brandywine  pear,  and  before  so 
manv  years  had  slipped  away  the  good  people 
of  Chamboro  beheld  a  wonder  growinr  p  in 
their  very  n/idst,  a  miraculous  tree,  one  side  of 
which  bore  abuncUnt  harvests  of  Strawberry 
Red  apples,  wWe  the  boughs  of  the  o^er  nde 
were  weighed  down  wkh  a  saocnlent  wealth  of 
Araniifwine  poos. 

Nor  wa>  this       Ir  to  the  me^fyw  md  Imr 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  355 

cious  mealiness  of  the  one  strangely  blended 
and  mingled  the  buttery  and  melting  juices  of 
the  other,  so  that  for  years  the  divided  youth 
of  Chamboro  had  disputed  as  to  which  was 
finer,  the  Brandy  wines  from  the  south  side,  or 
the  Strawberry  Reds  from  the  north  side. 
These  arguments  were  always  accompanied  by 
much  pensive  smacking  of  lips,  and  year  in  and 
year  out  many  a  young  mouth  had  watered  at 
vivid  descriptions  of  old  Cap'n  Steiner's  for- 
bidden fruit. 

Due  word  of  this  wondrous  tree  set  Lonely 
O'Malley  fo  thinking.  In  time  these  contin- 
uously rapt  and  highly  embellished  recountals 
even  prompted  him  to  action. 

But  there  were  difficulties.  For  twenty  years 
and  more,  every  boy  in  the  village  had  nursed 
designs  on  old  Cap'n  Steiner's  apples.  Men 
who  were  growing  slightly  bald  sdU  rubbed 
th&e  ves*  and  told  nwfuUy  how  near,  such 
and  such  a  night,  they  came  to  getting  a  hat- 
ftil  of  ^  old  fellow's  Strawberry  Reds.  So 
pmperful  a  magnet  had  thip  tree  stood  to  pre- 
daceo«8y<^  that  the  old  Captain  had  grown 
schooled  in  cnft,  and  in  time  had  learned  all 
the  tfts  nd  tricks  and  dodges  of  his  besiegers. 


356  LONELY  CMALLEY 

Now,  town  tnuiition  undcvmtingly  held,  the 
old  Captain  sat  it  an  open  window  throogh- 
out  the  month  of  August,  with  a  spy-glass 
in  one  hand  and  a  shot-gun  loaded  with  rock 
salt  in  the  other.  There  were  signal  wires, 
too,  the  town  boys  said,  running  mysteri- 
ously into  the  house,  where  so  much  as  the 
touch  of  an  intruding  foot  rang  a  little  alarm- 
bell  and  brought  forth  the  owner  and  the 
shot-gun. 

All  this  did  not  serve  to  discourage  Lonely. 
If  anything,  it  only  tended  to  make  him  more 
fixed  in  purpose.  He  first  spent  several  after- 
noons in  reconnoitring,  guardedly  exploring 
the  fence  and  prodding  about  for  possible  loop- 
holes. None  was  to  be  found ;  so,  foiled  here, 
he  resorted  to  strategy. 

He  dug  up  and  washed  a  goodly  sized  bunch 
of  horse-radish,  and,  placing  this  n(  atly  in  the 
bottom  of  a  basket,  boldly  opened  the  great, 
sagging  front  gate,  and  as  boldly  went  down 
the  dilapidated  old  board-walk.  He  wore,  as 
he  did  so,  his  meekest  and  most  wistful  look 
of  innocence. 

But  close  beside  his  straight  and  narrow  path 
he  noticed  a  score  or  two  of  mellow  red  astra- 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  357 

chans,  still  lying  seductively  ruddy  against  the 
dark  green  of  the  orchard  grass. 

The  temptation  was  too  much  for  Lonely. 

He  side-stepped  nimbly  in  under  the  tree. 


WITH  A  8Py-GUA»$  AHO  A  tHOT-CUN 


"^1 


-.  ^ 


MKROcorr  RBOtunoN  mr  cnait 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


358  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

and,  looking  furtively  about  to  sec  that  he  was 
unobserved,  quickly  thrust  four  of  the  finest 
apples  down  into  his  blouse-front. 

Then  he  went  on  his  way,  innocently  and 
calmly  whistling  his  cheery  discords.  He 
stopped  only  when  he  found  himself  confronted 
by  the  suspicious  and  belligerent  eye  of  Miss 
Arabella.  Even  then  he  did  not  quail,  only  he 
remembered,  at  the  time,  that  certain  small 
girls  in  the  village,  holding  Miss  Arabella  to 
be  a  witch,  always  passed  her  with  crossed 
fingers  and  scuttled  away  at  her  threatened 
approach. 

"  I  was  wonderin'  if  you 'd  like  to  buy  some 
horse-radish  ? "  Lonely  looked  back  at  her 
boldly,  thrusting  up  one  shoulder  and  squint- 
ing blandly,  although  his  sharp  eyes  had  al- 
ready caught  sight  of  an  immense  hedge  b( 
horse-radish  not  a  hundred  yards  away  from 
him,  against  the  east  fence. 

"  Stop  that  squintin'  !  "  said  Miss  Arabella, 
in  a  shrilly  stentorian  voice. 

"  Yes,  ma'm  !  "  said  Lonely,  meekly. 

"  An'  stop  hunchin' !  " 

"  Yes,  ma'm  !  "  answered  the  boy,  steadying 
himself  up  against  the  cistern  pump. 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  359 

"  Now,  are  n't  you  Lonely  O'Malley  ?  "  de- 
manded the  old  lady  suspiciously. 

The  boy  nodded,  wondering  what  was  to 
come  next.  He  was  hoping,  as  sometimes  had 
happened,  that  it  might  1  .  a  slice  of  bread  and 
butter,  with  peach  jam  on  it. 

Miss  Arabella  looked  at  the  basket,  and 
sniffed  aloud. 

"  You  're  Lonely  O'Malley,  are  you  ?  Then 
you  just  get  out  of  this  orchard,  as  fast  as 
them  young  legs  can  carry  you ! " 

Lonely's  jaw  dropped  in  sheer  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Travel  now ! "  she  cried,  "  or  I  '11  Lonely 

O'Malley  you ! " 

And  with  a  celerity  quite  unexpected  in  one 
of  her  years  Miss  Arabella  reached  in  through 
the  open  door,  and  made  after  the  fleeing 
Lonely  with  a  broom. 

Now,  the  less  designing  type  of  boy  would 
have  bolted  for  the  gate.  But  Lonely  had  not 
accomplished  his  purpose ;  and  having  the 
utmost  conftde  e  in  his  dodging  and  sprint- 
ing ability,  he  made  audacious  tracks  for  the 
river,  circling  well  in  through  the  orchard 
and  keeping  a  iharp  look-out  for  one  pardc- 


36o  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

ular  tree,  the  Strawberry  Red.  In  this  way, 
pursued  by  the  irate  maiden  lady,  he  made 
three  fleet  tours  of  the  orchard,  during  each 

circuit  audaciously 
picking  up  a  red 
astrachan  and  stor- 
ing it  away  in  his 
blouse. 

Then  he  dodged 
aside  Mid  slipped 
out  through  the 
A  minute 
or  two  later 
he  heard  it 
slammed  and 
locked  after 
him.  He  had 
not  discovered  the 
forbidden  fruit,  but 
a  new  thought  had 
come  to  him.  The 
way  to  storm  his 
enemy's  ptwtion 
was  obviously  from 
the  water-front. 

PVRSUED  BY  THE  IRATE 

MAtUNLADT  Hc     SpCnt  tOt 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  361 

rest  of  the  next  morning  along  the  river-bank, 
just  above  the  old  Captain's  orchard.  There, 
while  looking  over  the  ground  and  perfecting 
his  plans,  he  came  unexpectedly  upon  Pauline 
Augusta  Persons,  sailing  chip-boats  at  the 
river-edge. 

"  You 'd  better  get  home  out  o'  this  !  "  he 
commanded,  scowling  darkly  down  at  her. 
"Git!"  he  repeated. 

Pauline  Augusta,  beholding  her  old-time 
enemy  thus  threatening  her,  fled  pell-mell  to 
the  near-by  shelter  of  a  clump  of  burdocks, 
amid  which  she  pushed  and  squatted,  quite 
motionless,  somewhat  after  the  ^hion  of  a 
very  young  robin.  Her  enemy  scowled  over 
toward  her  on<»  or  twice  ;  but  vaster  concerns 
preoccupied  his  mind.  A  raft  of  elm  logs  lay 
close  in  to  the  shore,  waiting  for  the  screaming 
mill-saw  to  rip  them  up  into  two-inch  planks. 
Watching  his  chance,  when  the  mill-men  were 
away  at  dinner,  he  quietly  loosened  the  piece  of 
logging-chain  which  held  the  lower  end  of  the  • 
boom,  and  then  silently  pokd  the  raft  down- 
stream. Opposite  the  upper  corner  of  the  old 
Captun's  orchard  he  worked  it  close  in  lo  the 
bank  again,  making  it  fast  to  a  young  willow. 


362  LONELY  O  MALLEY 

Before  him  lay  the  open  Garden  of  Eden, 
the  garden  wherein  grew  the  forbidden  fruit, 
and  wherein  lurked,  he  grimly  reminded  him- 
self, a  very  shrill-voiced  serpent.  The  logs 
drifted  down  the  languid  current  and  filled  up 
the  boom  space.  One  escaping  truant  he  res- 
cued just  in  time.  Then  he  made  sure  that  the 
others  were  safe,  calmly  studying  his  would- 
be  course,  should  his  escape  prove  a  hurried 
one. 

Finally  he  stept  ashore,  and  crawled  up  the 
grassy  bank  that  sloped  so  gently  down  to  the 
water's  edge.  Here,  he  felt,  was  an  adventure 
worthy  of  his  steel. 

Lonely  looked  about,  gopher-like,  drop- 
ping flat  on  his  stomach  as  the  side  door  of 
the  Captain's  house  opened.  It  was  his  one- 
time stay  and  support  in  things  of  the  spirit. 
Miss  Mehetabel  Wilkins,  bidding  a  "oluble 
good-day  to  Miss  Arabella. 

When  the  coast  was  once  more  clear  he 
•crept  as  far  as  he  dared  up  the  slopinr  river- 
bunk.  There  he  studied  the  situation  at  closer 
range.  Tree  by  tree,  his  squintmg  young  eyes 
went  over  the  orchard,  until,  at  last,  he  caught 
sight  of  the  forbidden  fruit  itself. 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  363 

There  stood  the  old  tree,  halfway  between 
the  Captain's  trim  little  boat-landing  and  his 

wide-open  back  door. 

On  the  one  side  Lonely  could  see  the  rus- 
set yellow  of  the  Brandywine  pears,  on  the 
other,  the  streaked  crimson  and  yellow  of  the 
Strawberry  Reds. 

Then,  after  the  fashion  of  all  famous  hunt- 
ers and  scouts,  he  dropped  prone  on  the 
grass,  face  downward,  and  stealthily,  foot  by 
foot,  vvormed  his  circuitous  way  nearer  and 
nearer  the  tree.  At  intervals  he  lay  motion- 
less, a  brown  spot  on  the  parched  brown  of 
the  open  orchard  grass.  The  busy  rattle 
of  dishes  floated  out  to  him,  warning  the  in- 
truder that  Miss  Arabella  was  "  washing 
up."  Then  whiffs  of  the  old  Captain's  pipe- 
smoke  drifted  lazily  through  an  open  window. 
The  guinea-fowl  down  in  the  chicken-yard 
cluttered  and  screamed.  The  sawmill  whistled 
for  one  o'clock. 

As  that  brazen  wail  of  sound  died  away, 
Lonely's  arms  closed  about  the  rough  trunk 
of  the  old  Strawberry  Red.  The  next  second 
he  was  shinning  nimbly  up  into  its  shadowy 
boughs. 


364  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

He  swung  his  lithe  body  across  a  comfort- 
able-looking crotch,  where  he  sat  straddle  and 
gazed  in  round-eyed  wonder  at  the  wealth 
about  him,  within  reach  of  his  hand,  his  to 
capture  and  devour,  with  only  a  few  hornets 
buzzing  appreciatively  at  one  or  two  of  the 
ripest  pears. 

"  Yum  1  Yum  ! "  said  Lonely  O'Malley 
aloud,  in  rapt  anticipation. 

First  he  tasted  an  apple.  He  tried  to  make 
the  resulting  smack  inaudible,  but  that  was 
out  of  the  question.  Never  could  one  of  the 

apples  of  the  Hesperides  have  tasted  sweeter 
on  the  lips  of  Hercules  himself  than  did  that 
Strawberry  Red  to  the  mouth  of  Lonely 
O'Malley.  Never  had  he  bitten  rapturously 
into  fruit  like  unto  this  of  Cap'n  Steiner's. 

Then  he  tried  a  Brandy  wine  pear.  His 
eyes  rolled  up  ecstatically,  his  lips  clucked  and 
smacked,  as  he  licked  the  too  opulent  juices 
from  his  sticky  fingers.  He  reached  for  an- 
other and  then  another,  selecting  those  round 
which  the  hornets  buzzed  thickest,  the  ripest 
and  sweetest  and  juiciest,  going  back  to  the 
apples  once  more,  and  still  unable  for  the  life 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  365 

of  him  to  decide  which  were  the  better,  the 
Brandywines  or  the  Strawberry  Reds  them- 
selves. 

Then  something  happened,  something  as 
unlocked  for  as  it  was  disconcerting.  This 
surprise  took  the  form  of  Miss  Arabella  her- 
self, calmly  and  methodically  propping  the 
b8v'  Cap'n  Steiner's  old  canvas  camp- 
cKrf.  :.i8t  the  trunk  of  the  tree  in  which 
Lon.  y  &at  perched.  A  moment  later  the  old 
Captain  himself  appeared,  and  Miss  Arabella 
went  over  to  the  side  veranda  for  her  rocking- 
chair. 

The  old  Captain  stretched  himself  out  for 
his  customary  noonday  nap.  Miss  Arabella 
put  on  her  spectacles,  opened  her  "  Family 
Guardian,"  and  asserted  that  she  was  ready  for 
a  good  long  spell  o'  reading  before  she  was 
going  to  get  settled  down  after  that  young 
varmint's  leading  her  such  a  chase  —  the 
young  whipper-snapper  ! 

The  young  varmint  and  whipper-snapper 
at  this  pricked  up  his  guilty  young  ears. 

The  old  Captain,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
swore,  softly  behind  his  red  bandanna,  spread 
over  his  face  to  keep  away  the  flies. 


366  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"  The  young  limb !  "  he  mumbled,  wrath- 
fuUy.  "If  I  had  him  here!  If  I  —  " 

"  There 's  no  use  getting  het  up,  Silas, 
about  that  boy.  He  ain't  here,  so  what  *s  the 
good  o'  swearing  that  way  and  saying  what 
you  *d  do  ? " 

Miss  Arabella  was  on  the  point  of  continu- 
ing her  discourse  when  a  mealy  Strawberry 
Red,  falling  apparently  from  its  mother  bough, 
smote  her  sharply  on  the  head. 

«  Goodness  gracious  me !  *'  said  Miss  Ara- 
bella, feeling  the  spot.  "  'Bout  time  this  fruit 
was  gettin'  canned !  " 

But  the  irate  old  Captain  sat  up,  waving 
his  stick.  He  '  as  about  to  enter  into  a  de- 
tailed and  impassioned  account  of  what  he 
would  do,  once  the  fit  and  proper  occasion 
presented  itself,  when  his  eye  chanced  to  fall 
on  some  half-dozen  apple-cores  lying  scattered 
at  his  feet.  His  mouth  remained  open,  but 
this  time  in  silent  wonder ;  and  he  looked  from 
the  tree  to  the  cores,  and  from  the  cores  back 
to  the  tree,  and  then  at  Miss  Arabella. 

Lonely,  peering  carefully  down  through  the 
leafy  shadows,  could  make  out  the  strange 
look,  but  could  not  guess  at  its  cause. 


WE  FIND  A  HERO 


3<»7 


« Arabelly  Stdner, 
somebody  *s  been  a-eat- 
ing  these  Strawberry 
Reds  ! "  he  announced, 
sternly,  stooping  for- 
ward and  examining  one 
of  the  tell-tale  cores, 
turning  it  over  critically 
with  the  end  of  his  stick. 

"Tommyrot!"  said 
Miss  Arabella,  deep  in 
her  "Family  Guardian." 


STRETCHED  HIMULF 
OUT  rOR  HIl  NAP 


1 


368  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"  Don't  tommyrot  mc,  ma'm !  I  say  some- 
body's been  at  my  tree!  " 

And  in  proof  of  his  assertion  he  thrust  a 
well-munched  core  before  her  skeptical  eyes. 

"  An'  the  cannin'  factory  buyin*  this  fruit 
at  four  dollars  a  bushel !  "  he  went  on,  indig- 
nantly. 

But  the  spirit  of  peace  had  already  taken 
possession  of  Miss  Arabella's  soul. 

« Well,  what  "s  an  apple  or  two,  anyway, 
Siias?  I  s'pose  it's  been  that  O'Malley  kid, 
or  some  other  young  thief ! " 

A  lai^  ripe  appl:  ffll  and  went  into  a  dozen 
pieces  on  the  ba^k  of  Miss  Arabella's  rocker. 

"  And  it 's  time  them  Strawberry  Reds  were 
picked,  anyway!"  she  announced,  with  de- 
cision. 

She  turned  again  to  her  "  Family  Guardian." 
The  old  Captain,  finding  his  muttered  thun- 
derings  elicited  no  response,  settled  himself 
back  in  his  chair,  and  was  soon  sending  forth 
sonorous  and  rhythmical  snores.  Miss  Arabella 
now  and  then  turned  a  page.  Lx)nely  began 
to  itch,  and  scratched  himself  cautiously.  It 
was  hot  and  close  up  among  the  dense  foli^, 
and  his  leffs  were  getting  stiff  and  cramped. 


VVK  FIND  A  '  liRO  369 

He  wished  he  could  get  away  and  go  in  for  a 
good  swim.  The  hornets  bu//ed  noisily  about 
him  ;  one  even  settled  on  the  calf  of  his  leg, 
and  in  a  sudden  terror  of  fear  he  wondered  if 
it  would  sting  him  ;  and  if  so,  could  he  keep 
from  hollering. 

It  seemed  to  get  hotter  as  timt  wore  on. 
By  stretching  his  neck  carefully  he  could  c  itch 
a  glimpse  of  the  Jimpid  and  cool-looking  >  ver 
water,  ruffling  and  shimmering  ir  ihe  after n  or: 
sunlight.  He  scratched  himself  o.  c  more,  and 
even  wished  he  could  go  to  sleep.  The  blue 
flies  buzzed ;  the  bees  and  hornets  hummed, 
the  leaves  stirred  lazily;  the  relaxing  little  bare 
leg  fell  forward.  A  moment  later  Lonely  was 
fast  asleep  up  among  Captain  Steiner's  Straw- 
berry Reds. 

His  head  drooped  lower  and  lower:  his 
body  sagged  comfortably  down  in  the  wide 
tree-crotch.  The  old  Captain  wakened,  re- 
moved his  red  bandanna,  and  was  gazing 
dreamily  and  contentedly  up  into  the  gloomy 
and  cool-looking  shadows  of  the  tree,  when 
suddenly  a  boy's  hat  fell,  as  from  an  open 
sky,  into  his  startled  lap. 

The  old  Captain  examined  that  hat  carefiii  y ; 


370  LONELY  O'M ALLEY 

then  he  tiptoed  cautiously  over  to  Miss  Ara- 
bella, who  whispered  back  to  the  Captain,  and 
shook  her  head  in  unison  with  him,  and  then 
hurried  to  the  wood-shed  for  the  garden-rake. 

Mounting  perilously  on  the  edge  of  his 
chair,  the  old  Captain  pushed  back  the  screen- 
ing boughs,  and  revealed  the  unconscious  form 
of  the  apple-thief,  deep  in  his  innocent  dreams. 

The  old  Captain  chortled  wickedly,  and 
rubbed  his  hands  together.  He  left  Miss 
Arabella  on  guard,  and  hobbled  houscward  for 
a  clothes-line. 

"  He-he,  the  young  rapscallion  !  The  pi- 
rootin'  young  womper  —  we've  got  him  !  My 
cookie-pie,  we 've  got  him  now  ! "  he  chuckled, 
as  he  emerged  with  the  hempen  emblem  of 
bondage.  But  about  the  sleeping  boy  the 
impending  knot  of  bondage  was  never  tied. 

The  old  Captain  was  suddenly  startled  by 
the  shrill  and  terrified  voice  of  Miss  Arabella. 
His  first  thought  was  that  Lonely  had  made 
good  his  escape. 

«  Silas !  Silas !  Quick !  On  them  logs,  there 
—  there,  above  the  landing!   It's  Pauline 
Augusta !  Be  careful,  child  !  Oh,  be  careful !  " 
Miss  Arabella  was  already  hurrying  toward 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  371 

the  river-bank.  The  strands  of  hemp  rope 
dropped  from  the  old  Captain's  fingers. 

"  Stand  steady,  child,  stand  steady !  Be 
still!"  screamed  iv.iss  Arabella.  Her  fifty 
years  of  life  beside  that  quiet  old  river  and 
its  rafts  had  taught  her  a  little  of  the  darker 
history  of  its  shimmering,  glinting  midsummer 
water,  and  of  the  treachery  of  the  sullen  logs 
that  floated  so  lazily  on  its  shadowy  surface. 

"  Don't  move,  child  !  Don't  move  till  I  get 
the  boat !  "  she  cried  again.  And  already  one 
or  two  of  the  closer  neighbors,  wondering 
what  could  be  the  meaning  of  such  outcries 
from  the  quiet  old  orchard  home,  were  hurry- 
ing in  through  the  high-posted  gateway. 

But  Pauline  Augusta,  herself  surprised  at 
so  much  noise  and  half-afraid  to  advance  or 
retreat  along  the  narrow  boom-timber  on  which 
she  stood,  decided,  in  her  moment  of  new-born 
doubt,  to  make  for  dry  land.  The  round  logs 
lay  crowded  together,  providing  a  path  between 
her  and  the  grassy  l»nk.  As  a  new  sense  of 
terror  took  hold  of  her,  she  stepped  recklessly 
from  the  squared  and  solid  boom-timber  to  the 
logs  that  lay  nearest  her. 

Lonely,  wakened  suddenly  out  of  an  uneasy 


372  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

sleep,  in  which  he  had  dreamed  his  flying- 
machine  was  breaking  down  on  a  cruise  half- 
way to  the  moon,  dazedly  parted  the  thick 
apple  branches  and  glanced  down  toward  the 
river. 

He  heard  the  child's  sudden,  sharp  little 
cry ;  he  saw  the  log  tip  and  roll  and  spin.  A 
second  later  Pauline  Augusta  had  disappeared 
from  sight. 

A  groan  went  up  from  the  women,  helpless 
with  the  horror  of  it  all.  The  old  Captain 
tremblingly  flung  off  his  alpaca  coat,  and  was 
tugging  resolutely  at  his  waistcoat. 

"  No,  no,  brother  !  "  Miss  Arabella  cried, 
clinging  to  him  madly.  "  You  're  too  old,  too 
old,  —  you  must  n't  do  it !  " 

The  old  Captain  broke  away  from  her. 

"  By  gad,  ma'm  —  " 

But  that  was  as  far  as  he  got,  for  a  sudden 
crisp  little  splash  fell  on  the  ears  of  the  frantic 
group.  A  darting  shadow,  crowned  with  an 
unkempt  halo  of  russet  brown,  had  sped  down 
the  sloping  bank  and  cut  arrow-like  into  the 
quiet  water.  It  had  seemed  like  the  swoop  and 
dip  of  a  kingfisher. 

The  watching  group  waited,  motionless, 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  373 

speechless,  as  the  arrow-like  figure  dove 
straight  for  the  little  line  of  bubbles  that  drifted 
out  from  under  the  lower  end  of  the  raft. 

A  moment  later  a  hand  appeared  above  the 
water,  then  a  sandy  head,  then  a  face.  It  took 
one  short  breath,  and  with  an  adroit  kick  of 
the  heels  went  down  again.  He  had  missed 
her. 

The  group  on  the  bank  gasped.  After  all, 
it  would  be  too  late.  The  seconds  sped  away ; 
he  had  not  found  her. 

Then  a  sudden  sign  of  commotion  dis- 
turbed the  surface  of  the  quiet  river.  Hands 
appeared,  and  two  heads,  scratching  and  clutch- 
ing and  fighting  hands,  and  two  threshing 
bodies,  strangely  tangled  together. 

«  By  gad,  he 's  got  her  !  "  shrilled  the  old 
Captain.  The  sound  of  a  woman's  hysterical 
wailing  rose  through  the  quiet  orchard,  weirdly, 
uncannily. 

Inch  by  inch  the  boy  was  fighting  his  way 
toward  the  bank,  all  the  while  striving  to  keep 
that  rolling  head  with  the  streaming  and 
matted  hair  above  the  suribce  of  the  water. 

"Git  a  barrel!"  he  panted,  as  his  knee 
struck  the  oozy  bottom. 


374  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

A  dozen  hands  were  ready  and  waiting  to 
help  them  out. 

«  Git  a  barrel !  "  ordered  the  boy^gain,  be- 
fore even  his  feet  were  on  the  grassy  slope. 

« Yes,  sir,"  cried  Miss  Arabella,  insanely, 
as  she  flew  to  the  wood-shed  and  staggered 
weakly  back  with  an  empty  apple-barrel.  Two 
of  the  children  had  already  been  sent  off  for 
old  Doctor  Ridley. 

Once,  in  Cowansburg,  Lonely  had  witnessed 
and  assisted  in  the  time-honored  and  ancient 
method  of  resuscitation  by  barrel.  And  it  was 
not  until  he  had  seen  Pauline  Augusta  none 
too  gently  turned  upside  down,  and  well 
dipped  and  prodded,  and  then  rolled  in  hot 
blankets  and  given  a  sip  or  two  of  cherry 
brandy,  that  he  gave  any  thought  to  himself. 

«  Gee  whittaker,"  he  said,  weakly,  "  I  —  I 
feel  kind  o'  funny ! "  And  with  that  he 
plumped  down  on  the  grass,  helplessly,  with 
his  eyelids  quivering,  and  his  toes  twitching 
spasmodically. 

Whether  or  not  Lonely  was  about  to  fiunt, 
history  will  never  record.  Whether  or  not  it 
was  the  stem  old  face  of  Cap'n  Steiner  which 
brought  back  a  rush  of  very  recent  memories 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  375 

and  caused  that  artful  simulation  of  u'lter 
weariness,  &r  be  it  from  his  present  biographer 
to  say. 

But  he  was  promptly  given  a  generous,  an 
almost  too  generous,  drink  of  cherry  brandy, 
and  even  before  Pauline  Augusta  was  carried 
off  to  bed  in  the  quiet,  cool  house,  his  old-time 
self-content  had  returned  to  him.  Yet  he  was 
glad  to  be  let  alone.  He  lay  in  the  sun,  steam- 
ing, alone  and  forgotten,  dreamily  watching 
the  open  sky  and  inwardly  remarking  what 
fine,  warm-feeling  stuff  cherry  brandy  really 
was. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Doctor  Ridley  came  out 
of  the  quiet  and  muffled  house,  his  faded  old 
eyes  unnaturally  bright,  his  fingers  meditat- 
ively feeling  through  the  two  capacious  pock- 
et hidden  away  under  his  black  coat-tails. 
For  once  in  his  life  that  almost  unfailing 
supply  of  horehound  drops  and  peppermints, 
which  had  brought  happiness  to  many  a  dozen 
children,  was  found  to  be  exhausted.  He  had 
been  hearing  a  thing  or  two  about  Lonely 
O'Malley.  Again  he  felt  fruitlessly  in  the 
depths  of  his  pockets,  looking  short-sightedly 
about  for  the  boy  himself. 


376  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

He  suddenly  stood  transfixed,  in  his  quest 
for  his  modest  young  hero,  both  puzzled  and 
startled  by  the  scene  which  met  his  eyes. 

On  the  river-bank,  outlined  against  the 
afternoon  ^are  of  the  quiet  water,  stood  Lonely 
and  Cap'n  Steiner,  speechless,  each  vindic- 
tively eyeing  the  other. 

The  Captain's  oak  stick  was  in  his  upraised 
hand ;  his  body  shook  with  the  stress  of  some 
strange  emotion.  This,  the  wondering  Doctor 
took  note,  appeared  to  be  one  of  rage  when  he 
confronted  thf*  glowering  boy.  Yet  when  his 
face  was  turned  away,  in  the  direction  of  the 
Doctor,  it  seemed  one  of  sternly  repressed 
hilarity. 

"  You  —  you  young  limb !  "  gasped  the 
Captain,  faintly,  looking  from  Lonely  to  hu 
tree  of  Strawberry  Reds,  and  then  back  to  the 
squinting  and  hunching  Lonely  once  mwe. 

"You  rapscallion!  You  —  you  piroodng 
young  varmint!  I*m  a-^ing  to  whale  the 
hide  off  you  I" 

"  Well,  do  it  1 "  said  Lonely,  sulkily,  look- 
ing as  though  he  would  be  much  relieved  at 
such  a  procedure. 

"  Silas !  "  cried  Miss  Arabella  from  the  side 


WE  HND  A  HERO  377 

door.  "  Silas !  Don't  you  be  hard  on  that 
poor  child ! " 

"He-he!  He-he!  Hard  on  bim-^thc 
worst  young  limb  in  all  Chamboro!  Why, 
whalin'  *8  too  easy  for  him !  ** 


EACH  VINDICTIVELY  EYEING  THE  OTHER 


378  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"  I  declare  to  goodness,  Silas  Steiner,  you  're 
a  worse  old  tyrant  than  I  ever  took  you  for ! 
You  leave  off  pesterin'  that  boy  and  let  him 
come  in  and  git  some  dry  clothes  and  some- 
thing good  to  eat ! 

The  Doctor  walked  slowly  over  and  put  his 
kindly  old  hand  on  Lonely's  sandy,  be- 
draggled, and  very  unhappy  head. 

"  Lonely,  I 'm  proud  of  you  !  "  was  all  he 
said.  But  it  was  enough.  He  looked  down 
into  the  boy's  rebellious  and  unfathomable 
eyes,  still  slightly  unsteady  from  the  effects  of 
Miss  Arabella's  too  potent  cherry  brandy. 
Then  he  looked  out  at  the  quiet  river,  and 
at  the  huddled  logs  and  the  spot  over  which 
had  hovered  so  closely  the  wing  of  tragedy. 
"  You  're  not  cut  out  for  a  hero,  my  boy,  but 
you  almost  made  one !  "  he  repeated,  solemnly. 

Lonely  grew  even  more  uncomfortable. 
This  being  torn  between  the  opposing  forces 
of  kindness  and  wrath  was  too  much  for  him. 
He  wished  he  could  get  away,  and  make  tracks 
for  the  cave  or  the  swimming-hole.  Even  the 
approach  of  Miss  Arabella,  with  a  glass  of 
cider  and  a  large  slice  of  fruit-cake,  did  not 
alleviate  his  inward  unrest. 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  379 

"  Proud  of  him  !  A  hero  !  Why,  dammit, 
sir,"  roared  the  old  Captain,  "  d'  you  know 
that  young  limb  has  been  a-stealin'  my  Straw- 
berry Reds  —  the  first  young  varmint  to  git 
at  that  fruit  o'  mine  this  thirteen  year  back  — 
and  under  my  very  nose,  sir ! " 

«*  Tut,  tut !    s«d  the  old  Doctor. 

**  I  could  have  overlooked  that !  But  when 
he  comes a-struttin'  up  to  me  and  tells mttCooX 
as  a  cowcumber,  that  he 's  been  at  'em  —  the 
—  then  I 've  just  got  to  let  out !  " 

"  Fiddlesticks  !  "  said  the  old  Doctor. 

"  Yes,  fiddlesticks  !  "  repeated  Miss  Ara- 
bella. And  she  placed  the  cake  and  cider  on 
the  sundial,  and  stooped  down  over  Lonely, 
unexpectedly  putting  her  maiden  arms  hun- 
grily about  the  sodden  figure. 

The  boy  himself  looked  about  furtively, 
wondering  if  any  of  the  women  folks  had  seen 
it.  The  two  old  men  walked  slowly  away,  arm 
in  arm,  under  the  shadowy  apple-trees.  The 
Captain  chuckled  quietly,  deep  down  in  his 
throat. 

"  Why,  Doc,  I  believe  I  would  a-bawled — 
a-bawled  like  a  demned  baby,  if  I  had  n't 
a-gone  for  him  that  fashion  1 " 


38o  LONELY  CMALLEY 

"  Fiddlesticks ! "  said  the  old  Doctor  again. 

Yet  the  two  old  cronies  continued  to  pace 
up  and  down  together,  arm  in  arm,  under  the 
fruit-laden  trees,  looking  after  the  MUidy- 
headed  boy  m  he  was  led  away  into  the  strange, 
shadowy  house. 

There  Miss  ArabeUa  and  the  Widow  Star- 
bottle  buzzed  solidtously  nbout  him,  imagin- 
ing that  his  all  too  obvious  unhappiness  was 
something  of  the  body,  and  not  of  the  soul. 
Even  Lionel  Clarence's  mother  wanted  to 
know  if  Lonely  did  not  feel  proud  of  himself, 
and  asked  him  for  the  fourth  time  just  how  he 
did  it,  and  patted  him  on  the  head,  and  said 
he  was  one  of  Nature's  little  noblemen. 

"  What  t'  ell 's  all  this  rumpus  about  ?  ** 
was  the  bewildered  question  which  Nature's 
little  nobleman  was  asking  himself  in  vain. 

Then  a  door  that  led  into  the  darkened 
bedroom  opened  quietly,  and  Pauline  Au- 
gusta's mother  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

Lonely  edged  closer  to  Miss  Arabella. 

"Say,  Mis'  Steiner,"  he  mattered,  under 
his  breath,  guardedly,  **are  we  square  'koui  those 
Strawberry  Reds  ?  " 

Miss  Arabella  had  completely  forgotten. 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  381 

Yet  she  sighed  a  little  as  she  looked  into  the 
shrewd,  the  guilty,  and  the  altogether  unhappy 
face  of  Lonely,  —  sighed  as  one  might  over 
a  stain  in  a  fine  new  gown,  or  at  a  cloud  on  the 
sky-line  of  a  perfect  day. 

"  Yes,  of  course.  Lonely !  Don't  you  see, 
you  're  a  bera  now !  And  there 's  Mrs.  Persons 
hunting  all  round  for  you ! " 

Lonely  looked  relieved,  and  as  the  grateful 
mother  of  the  girl  he  had  dragged  from  under 
the  raft  came  over  to  him,  he  batted  his  eyes  sol- 
emnly, and  tried  to  look  wistful,  and  pufifed 
out  his  chest  with  a  new  sense  of  dignity. 

The  pale-browed  mother  took  the  thin  and 
sunburned  face  between  her  two  trembling 
hands.  Twice  she  essayed  to  speak  and  twice 
she  failed,  the  quiet  tears  welling  up  to  her 
eyes,  and  rolling  unheeded  down  her  cheeks. 
Then  she  deliberately  bent  over  and  kissed 
the  worst  young  limb  in  all  Chamboro,  on  his 
hot  and  perspiring  young  brow. 

**  My  hero ! "  she  murmured,  inadequately. 

Her  arms  were  lodced  about  the  still  sodden 
and  shrinking  little  figure,  to  whom  love  was 
so  alien  and  so  unknown.  He  tried  to  writhe 
and  twist  away,  but  could  not. 


382  LONELY  O'MALLEY 

"  Ah,  Lonely,  Lonely,  how  shall  I  ever  pay 
you  back  for  this?"  asked  the  woman,  sob- 
bingly,  with  relaxing  and  sorrowful  happiness. 

Bitterly,  heroiodly,  Lonely  fought  and 
stru^led  against  the  implaoible  tide  of  emo- 
tion that  teemed  engulfing  him.  His  lips 
c)iiivered ;  a  smardng  tear-drop  or  two  coursed 
down  over  a  freckly  pathway. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  asked  the  woman, 
bending  over  him. 

"7  —  /  waiCt  to  go  swimmirC"  murmured 
Lonely,  huskily,  inadequately,  but  honestly. 

And  at  this  precise  point.  Master  Lonely 
O'Malley,  I  must  leave  you  at  last,  a  hero, — 
hybrid  of  good  and  bad,  as  are  all  earth's 
heroes  at  heart.  It  may  be  only  for  your  brief 
little  day,  but  still  I  leave  you,  a  hero.  For 
to-morrow,  I  know,  the  eternal  boy  will  r«u- 
sert  itself,  th*  old  blood  will  break  out,  the 
glory  will  be  feded,  the  halo  will  be  either 
sadly  awry  or  altogether  missing,  the  saint 
will  be  &llen  from  its  snowy  niche. 

To-morrow,  alas !  you  will  be  knee-deep  in 
the  old  restless  wickednesses,  —  yes,  up  to 
your  generous  young  ears  in  all  the  old  evils, 


WE  FIND  A  HERO  383 

tripping  and  stumbling  and  falling  ^vith  the 
tame  restless  young  feet  over  the  same  old  in- 
exorable temptations,  a  child  of  those  wayward 
impulses  and  dreams  which  make  you  so  sadly 
unsatisfying)  so  human,  and,  I  dare  say,  so 
commonplace ! 


tat  mnt^it  pce$$ 

RttetrMyttdmndtrinUd  bj  H.  O.  HtngMm  A*  C#. 
CmuOriit*,  Mt$t^  U.  S.  A. 


